


To Make You Mine

by StormDancer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: Tyson's life isn't complicated. He plays hockey, he mooches food off his friends, he hooks up with some of those friends, he makes sure the team has a life and isn't lame, he handles the usual weirdness of his wolf teammates, he keeps his 'hooking up with his ridiculously hot captain' arrangement casual and easy. Even when Gabe's been acting weird around him since the season started....fine. Maybe Tyson's life is a little complicated.





	To Make You Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Shows up like 4 years late with werewolf fic...I know it's behind the trend but I apparently needed to write a werewolf fic for the Avs because there can never be enough. 
> 
> Don't know anything about anyone, don't own anything, all that jazz. This is not based off of any season particularly and I've taken plenty of liberties. There is a minor Roman Josi appearance, not enough to tag it but I wanted to mention it if you have a particular aversion.

_You busy?_

Tyson looks at his phone, then at his living room table, which is currently covered with arguably-diet plan approved Chinese takeout, then at the TV, which is currently playing the Great British Bakeoff.

_Yes, I’m swamped_ , he replies, because that’s really the only answer he can give. It’s still technically the off-season for one more day, he’s allowed to do shit like this.

_Great, I’m coming over_ , Gabe announces, and Tyson rolls his eyes at Gabe’s usual bullshit, but he gets up anyway to clean the takeout off the table because otherwise Gabe’s going to make so much fun of him, and also to maybe mess with his hair a little because it’s not like Gabe hasn’t seen him at his worst but he doesn’t like to only do that.

The hair is a lost cause, as always, so Tyson’s still watching Great British Bakeoff until the doorbell rings.

“It’s open!” he yells, getting up, and then the door opens and,

“You shouldn’t just leave the door unlocked,” Gabe’s saying as he walks into the living room. His head is tilted at that certain angle that means he’s sniffing out danger, or shit like that. All wolves have a similar body language. “What if—”

“Yes, I know, I unlocked it when you texted,” Tyson informs him, before he can really start lecturing. “I’m not actually an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me,” Gabe retorts, but then he just—looks at Tyson, and grins, that soft welcoming smile that makes his whole face light up until he’s just like, unfairly beautiful. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tyson replies, and a part of him wants to make Gabe wait, because he can see Gabe rocking on his toes, a little uncomfortable, but he’s not actually that much of a dick, so he sighs so Gabe knows he’s being put upon and jerks his head and opens his arms.

Gabe’s grin somehow gets even sharper, and then he closes the distance between them, wraps his arms around Tyson, and holds him tight, dropping his head into the side of Tyson’s neck. Tyson can hear him breathe in deep, then rub his nose against Tyson’s skin, which like, Tyson knows this is instinct, and he’s been around wolves his whole life and this particular wolf for years so he gets what he’s doing, but also they both know why Gabe’s here instead of doing this tomorrow, and he can’t held it if it sends a shiver down his spine.

Gabe hums low and amused, then he changes the angle so his teeth scrape over Tyson’s jaw. “Yeah?” he asks, still nosing at Tyson’s skin, like he’s not being obvious about what he’s doing or the fact that his hands are sliding down Tyson’s back.

Tyson lets his head fall back. “Yeah,” Tyson agrees, letting his own hands do some exploring, because Gabe has a lot of very nice off-season muscle he wants to taste please. “Wow, couldn’t wait until we got to the bedroom, even? Eager much?”

“I’m not the one getting turned on from a hug,” Gabe tells him, pulling away enough to look superior at him.

“I’m not the one who wasn’t in town thirty seconds before inviting themselves over,” Tyson retorts, and the superior look fades a little.

“I didn’t—”

Ugh, Tyson didn’t mean to make Gabe actually feel bad. When Gabe actually feels bad he gets all hangdog and it makes Tyson do stupid things to make him smile again. “Don’t be stupid, you’re clearly interrupting my super hot date. Come on, bedroom,” Tyson orders. He tries to step away, but Gabe’s hands tighten on him. “Gabe.”

Gabe looks down at his own hands, like in surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, bedroom,” he agrees, then he’s shoving at Tyson, which Tyson thinks is pretty rich and tells him so.

“I’m sorry, do you want to argue or get laid?” Gabe demands as they get upstairs, and then, when Tyson pretends to think about it, laughs and catches him around the waist to shove him onto the bed. Tyson bounces onto his back and grins up at Gabe.

“You make it sound like we can’t do both,” he says, and Gabe grins as he tugs his shirt off. Tyson makes sure to wait until that’s done—it’s always a sight worth seeing—before he’s pulling off his own shirt and wriggling out of his sweats. “But I believe in us. It’s like, a metaphor, or—”

Then Gabe’s kissing him, and Tyson shuts up in favor of paying attention to that.

They’ve been doing this for a couple seasons, on and off, and by now Gabe knows how to kiss Tyson like he likes, all heat and overwhelming and that simmering edge of something darker underneath it that all wolves carry with them. Tyson gets his hands in Gabe’s hair then falls back onto the bed, lets Gabe straddle his hips to pin him down and kiss him thoroughly, kisses him just as thoroughly back because by now Tyson knows how Gabe likes it too, how Gabe likes Tyson to tug at his hair and the place behind his ear that makes him make a sound Tyson’s strongly considered recording.

Gabe moves to Tyson’s jaw, nipping at it, then down to his chest, his mouth warm and wet. “You’ve bulked up,” he observes, in an approving tone.

“Are you pleased as my captain or hook up?” Tyson asks, because he honestly can’t tell, though he can definitely tell Gabe’s appreciative.

Gabe smirks and tweaks his nipple, which makes Tyson yelp and squirm. “Both. It looks good.” He pauses, then, when Tyson doesn’t say anything. “This is where you say…”

“Fuck off, I’m not stoking your ego anymore,” Tyson tells him, in what they both know is a blatant lie. “So you’re just fishing for compliments now?”

“I saw your Instagram this summer, maybe I’m feeling competitive,” Gabe retorts, pressing down on a bruise on Tyson’s hip that’s pretty clearly in the shape of a hand. It hurts and it’s so good, from Tyson’s toes to his ears but especially around his dick. “Who was this from, then?”

“No one you know,” Tyson tells him, which is true. She was a friend of a friend of a friend, who Tyson had met at a party and ended up hanging out with after, because she thought he was funny, apparently; she’d been sharp and funny and hot and it had been a good night. Tyson has her number in his phone for if he’s ever home and wants to chill. 

Gabe hums, then he slides down between Tyson’s legs, and bites at the bruise. Tyson’s back arches. “ _Gabe_ ,” he moans. “I thought you wanted to get laid, hurry up—"

“I have a plan—”

“So do I, it’s called orgasms,” Tyson snaps back, “So blow me or I’ll—”

He’s cut off by Gabe’s mouth on his dick, and unsurprisingly, Gabe has not forgotten what Tyson likes over the summer.

Tyson gets up to get a washcloth after he blows Gabe in return, because he had some time to bask and Gabe’s still coasting in the afterglow. When he’s done brushing his teeth, because he doesn’t actually enjoy the taste of cum, Gabe’s sprawled out over the bed, in the sort of way he gets where it’s not just sprawling because he’s large.

“You know I’m just going to change the sheets after you leave,” Tyson points out, tossing him a washcloth.

Gabe catches it and wipes off his hand. “Yeah, but.” He shrugs. After growing up in the NHL, where there are statistically more wolves than the normal population, Tyson gets it. Sort of. As much as a mere human can. “Come here.”

“I’m not cuddling with you,” Tyson warns, as he gets into bed and lies down on his back so Gabe can roll over and sprawl over him too.

“Hmph,” Gabe grunts. “You cuddle with Nate.”

“I like Nate.”

Gabe lifts his head, grins. “Aw, Four. You don’t like me?”

“Not at all,” Tyson tells him. “You’re a dick. Worst captain I’ve ever had. Worst lay I’ve ever had. I’m just here for the perks.”

“What are those?” Gabe asks, ignoring the rest of the statement, which is fair.

“I don’t know, maybe one day you’ll make me food. It hasn’t happened yet, but I have hope.”

“Dream big, Tys. Dream big.” Gabe pats his side.

They lapse into silence, Gabe breathing against Tyson’s chest, his fingers dragging up and down Tyson’s rib cage. Tyson looks down at his hair. It’s in moments like these—the quiet ones, between their bickering and hockey and sex and all the things the other noise that makes up their friendship—that Tyson remembers just how easy it would be to fall in love with Gabe.

He hasn’t, of course, because he’s not stupid, but…It would be easy. He’s always known that too well.

Eventually, Gabe pushes himself up. “I should get going. Big day tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” Tyson groans. He loves hockey, and the season, and all that, but anyone who says they look forward to training camp is lying, a masochist, or Sidney Crosby in disguise.

“What’s all that new muscle for if not to survive?” Gabe asks, pulling on his pants. Tyson watches from the bed. “Or is it just for the aesthetic?”

“I’m sorry, which one of us here is the model?” Tyson asks. “Anyway, it is practical. You’re not the only one who likes it.”

“I’m sure.” Gabe chuckles. “Mac’s giving you a ride in tomorrow?”

“I’m giving Mac a ride in,” Tyson tells him. He lets Nate drive sometimes, because Nate bitches otherwise, but he’s not going to invite that risk until he has to.

“See you tomorrow, then.” Gabe stands there, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Lock the door behind me.”

“I will.”

“Now,” Gabe demands, half a growl, and Tyson rolls his eyes. Gabe must really have been feeling the break, if he’s getting this pushy-protective over friends.

“Sir yes sir,” he says, getting up. It’s not like Gabe’s wrong.

“Hm, I like the sound of that.” Gabe looks considering, and Tyson flushes and shakes his head.

“Not a chance.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be you if you actually listened to me,” Gabe agrees, mournful, and Tyson punches him on the shoulder and herds him downstairs.

Gabe pauses on the doorstep. “Hey,” he says, quieter, not quite meeting Tyson’s eyes. “Can I…”

Tyson sort of expected he’d done it before he got here, honestly; it’s not like Gabe to be able to wait so long to walk the territory of places he considers part of his pack. “Yeah, sure, of course. Don’t chase any squirrels.”

“I don’t chase squirrels!” Gabe scoffs, clearly offended, and Tyson’s still laughing as Gabe makes a face at him. Then his form—melts, or shifts, or blurs, a sort of effect Tyson’s never quite been able to place—and the wolf’s in his place, wiggling out of his clothes.

“You know, you could have just not gotten dressed,” Tyson points out. Gabe whuffs, shaking his big pale red head, and licks at Tyson’s side, big and wet. Tyson makes a face back. “Ew, man. Come on.”

Gabe looks unrepentant. His tail wags, and Tyson rolls his eyes and laughs. “Fine. Have a good run. You can head to Nate’s too, get that done with.” He shuts the door behind him.

Gabe barks, sharp.

“Yes, fine!” Tyson yells back, and locks the door.

Gabe barks again, pleased, then Tyson hears the scrabbling of claws and the wolf’s gone.

Tyson settles back down on the couch to finish his episode. All in all, not a bad evening.

* * *

 

Tyson and Nate get to the rink early the next day, because apparently Nate has learned to manage Tyson down to the minute. Tyson considers being annoyed by it, but quite honestly it works out well for him, so he’s cool with it.

And it’s a nice day to be early. Tyson knows that Nate’s there early because he wants to do the A thing and greet everyone new and all that, but it means Tyson has a chance to chat with the old guys who he hasn’t seen yet and look at some of the new guys who are still staring around, wide-eyed, at the locker room.

Tyson’s talking to EJ—who he has seen because he hasn’t gotten over the habit of nagging him for food when he hasn’t gotten groceries—when Gabe comes in. Tyson watches with half an eye as Gabe makes his own circles, talking to the new guys, and doing the same sort of hug thing he did with Tyson last night to everyone else. He doesn’t linger as much—which, Tyson’s not saying he’s glad, per se, but he might feel kind of weird if Gabe started feeling up someone in the locker room—but he does his claiming thing, and the team lets him. He does spend more time with the other wolves—JT and Josty stop bickering long enough to duck their heads, properly submissive for once in a way they never are other than times like these, and Gabe noses at their necks and then shoves them playfully, which gets them into a playfight.

Then he wanders over to Nate, and they tilt their heads together, do their own thing with body language that Tyson doesn’t really get. It’s not pack, exactly, is what various wolves Tyson’s played with have told him—they all have their own families, and pack means more than just team, and there’s too much movement among players for something as permanent as pack, though Tyson knows some guys are in the same packs, when there’s really that close a bond. It’s pretty clear by now though that you don’t do that unless you know you can handle your shit if you’re traded. Not that that’s stopped people.

Anyway, Tyson’s never been quite sure what the wolves feel about team, but it’s something more than the humans can sense, Tyson knows. Gabe’s alpha-ness means something, to him and to the other wolves at least.

“So that’s still going on?” EJ asks. Tyson blinks.

“What?”

“The thing where you zone out in Gabe’s direction and stop paying attention to me.”

“Aw, EJ. Gabe’s pretty, but D-men are for life.” Tyson holds out his hand to fist bump, and EJ bumps it back. “He doesn’t understand our bond.”

“You guys’ bond definitely is different,” EJ agrees, rolling his eyes.

Tyson puckers his lips. “You want some kisses too, Johnson? I can arrange that.”

“Ugh, no.” EJ laughs and shoves at his shoulders.

“No, I’ve always wanted to see what kissing without teeth would feel like, come here—“

“Are you making trouble, Brutes?” Gabe interrupts, sliding up behind Tyson and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Do try to set a good example for the children.”

“I think everyone knows better than to expect that,” Tyson tells Gabe. “Anyway, they should understand how this locker room works.”

“Which is that Barrie will make out with anyone,” EJ says.

Gabe’s hand shifts on Tyson’s shoulders. Tyson scowls at him—the correct response to that is clearly to jump EJ, and now Tyson can’t. Which is probably why Gabe did it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabe says, then pauses. His lips quirk like they always do when he’s thought of a good joke. “It’s both Tysons.”

“Hey!” Josty yelps, picking it up from farther away, as JT bursts out laughing. Tyson shrugs.

“I mean, he’s got a point,” Tyson agrees. He knows who he is.

“Yeah, but we’ve got taste,” Josty puts in, still scowling a little. The prospects are definitely looking at them weirdly, but Tyson really does think it’s best for them to see what the locker room is from the start. “Or at least, I do.”

“Nah, Tysons have the best taste and the least discretion,” Tyson agrees, wriggling out of Gabe’s hold to throw his arm around Josty. “We wear it like a point of pride.”

“Hell yeah we do,” Josty agrees. He turns and does one of those wolf-things where he rubs his temple against Tyson’s shoulder in a mark of affection. Tyson pats his head. He’s not sure if it’s an age thing or what, but Josty’s always seemed more puppyish than other wolves were as rookies.

“Okay, ice time,” Gabe announces. “Stop doing your incestuous flirting and get on the ice.”

“You do know we’re not related, right?” Tyson asks.

“Yeah, I’m much better looking,” Josty puts in, and Tyson elbows him before letting him go. Josty wanders back to his stall, where JT hooks him into a headlock and mutters something that makes Josty laugh. Tyson shakes his head and turns to his own stall—then he’s stopped when Gabe grabs him again, tugs him against him.

Tyson tilts his head, looks up. Gabe’s staring a little weirdly at Tyson’s shoulder. “All good?”

Gabe blinks, then ducks his head so his temple knocks Tyson’s. “Yeah,” he says. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“I was going to until you stopped me,” Tyson complains, and dodges Gabe’s punch to that same shoulder.

* * *

 

Training camp is the worst, as usual, and Tyson doesn’t manage to do anything other than skate, train, drag himself to either his house, Nate’s house, EJ’s house, or Willy’s house, depending on which one is most likely to get him fed. He doesn’t even have the energy to go to Gabe’s to get laid, and it’s clearly mutual.

Then preseason starts, and everything settles. Tyson regains feelings in his limbs, and the ability to do something other than eat and sleep. Which means that he can actually manage to go to EJ’s with the rest of the guys and not fall asleep after one sip of beer, and instead get his ass kicked in Super Mario because he swears Nate trains on it in the off-season.

“It’s not fair, he’s got an advantage,” Tyson whines, when Nate wins and Tyson has to hand off his controller to EJ.

“And what’s that?” Gabe asks. Tyson drops down into the seat between him and Willy on the couch, then shifts to accommodate how Gabe turns to put himself in Tyson’s space. 

“I don’t know. Maybe Crosby puts him in training for this too,” Tyson tries. He takes the bowl of chips Willy hands him and eats one mournfully.

“Sid doesn’t like SuperMario,” Nate throws in, then also throws himself into EJ to try to distract him. EJ shoves him away, laughing. “It’s more Call of Duty.”

“So try again, Tys,” Gabe tells him, raising his eyebrows. His fingers are brushing against Tyson’s shoulder, kind of casually. “What’s this advantage?”

“Wolf-senses,” Tyson decides. “Definitely. Maybe being a wolf makes you better at—no, wait. That wouldn’t work.” Tyson smirks up at Gabe. “You suck at video games.”

“I don’t suck at them,” Gabe objects, making a face.

“You do, but I don’t think it has anything to do with being a wolf,” Willy points out, nodding to where EJ’s winning.

“See?” Gabe elbows Tyson. “Maybe it’s just that you’re not good.”

“Nah, can’t be that. I’m good at everything, didn’t you know?” Tyson makes his own face at Gabe’s snort. “Hey!”

“Sure you are, Tys,” Gabe agrees, and reaches out to ruffle Tyson’s hair. Tyson bats his hand away—Tyson’s hair is looking not much like a disaster and he’d kind of like to keep it that way.

“I—” Tyson gets cut off by his phone buzzing, so he ignores Gabe to check it, because he knows very well that nothing’s going to annoy Gabe more than that.

It’s a snap from Liza, and when he opens it’s just a selfie of her smirking at him, all dark eyes and dark lips. _Saw you’re back in town. Up to anything fun tonight?_

Tyson hasn’t seen Liza since he got back to Denver, and she’s great—she’s in grad school so she’s like, infinitely smarter than Tyson, but she thinks he’s funny and she’s condescending in the right ways and super hot. So, _could be_ , he replies, then puts his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m going to head out,” he announces.

Nate looks up. “Is it because I beat you? Seriously, Tys—“

“No, he’s got other plans,” Gabe cuts in. Tyson turns to look at him, because his voice was sharper than usual. But when he does, he just sees Gabe, looking cozy and warm and too handsome, his arms spread over the couch and his fingers curling in and out, like he wants to grab onto something.

“Haven’t you ever heard of bros before hos, Barrie?” EJ asks. Tyson kicks him as he passes by.

“EJ,” Willy puts in, chiding.

“Yeah, EJ. Have some class,” Tyson agrees, kicking him on his way past. “And anyway, I see enough of you. I haven’t seen Liza since last spring.”

“Liza. She’s the social services grad student?” Gabe asks. His voice still has that oddly sharp tone to it.

“Yeah.”

“So she’s the one where you’re punching way above your league.”

“Yep,” Tyson agrees cheerfully, sticking his tongue out at Nate. “Anyway. See you.”

“See you,” they chorus, except for Gabe, who gets up too, walks with him to the door.

Tyson raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay? I think I know where the door is.”

For a second, it looks like Gabe’s going to say that everything’s not okay. But that’s not what they do, what they’ve ever done, and Tyson really needs to hook up with someone else if he’s started to think those dangerous thoughts, so it’s good that,

 “Yeah, it’s fine. Have fun.” Gabe says, though his hand falls on Tyson’s hip, just for a second, before Gabe snatches it away. “She’s—you guys have been hooking up for a while.”

“Aw, Landy.” Tyson pats his cheek. “You know she’s not going to steal me away. Liza and I are chill. We’re not going to go exclusive and lose you your fuckbuddy any time soon.”

“I—right.” Gabe shakes his head. His hands are both behind his back. “Obviously. You couldn’t stay away.”

“Excuse you, I totally could,” Tyson lies, because he’s not an idiot and hooking up with Gabe still feels like some sort of fever dream sometimes, that someone who looks like that would want him. That Gabe would want him, bitchy condescending bossy basically perfect Gabe. “Now go keep our team entertained, they’ll start breaking something soon without supervision.”

“Yeah.” Gabe smiles then, softer. “Our team needs supervising.”

It’s still weird. Tyson gives a side eye, but Gabe doesn’t say anything in reply, so he nods to him and goes, leaving Gabe in the doorway.

* * *

The next morning at practice, he gets some flack, but teasing Tyson about hooking up with one of his regular hook-ups is far less interesting than making fun of G for his attempt at facial hair. After practice, Gabe lingers by his stall as they all get changed.

“Come over?” he says, low. It’s not a secret that they hook up sometimes, but it’s not something they broadcast either.

Tyson takes account of his body. He’s sore, but it’s not too bad. And he’s not really going to say no. “Yeah, sure. I’ll follow you over,” he agrees. Gabe smiles, pats his arm, and goes to the shower. Tyson is probably not subtle in ogling his back as he walks away, but whatever, he knows Gabe likes it.

So he goes over, and he barely has time to greet Zoey before Gabe is kissing him against the wall. In the usual course of things, that means they’ll maybe make it to the couch before they get off—neither of them is precisely known for their patience—but this time when Tyson tries to head that way Gabe shakes his head.

“Upstairs,” he demands. Tyson shrugs, but he goes. He’s not going to object to a more thorough hook up.

So instead of the fast thing Tyson expected, he gets Gabe stripped on the bed, and Gabe taking off all his clothes like Tyson have clothes on was personally offensive. It’s the sort of thing Tyson’s more used to at the beginning of a season, or after a break—when it’s been a while and Gabe needs to like, reclaim all his territory or whatever possessive alpha wolf thing he does. Except Tyson’s not his territory, obviously, just—pack. Though Tyson sometimes wonders how he does it with the other humans around, before remembering he shouldn’t think that.  They had hooked up barely a week ago, anyway, but hey, Tyson’s not complaining about Gabe rubbing himself all over Tyson and fucking him hard enough that Tyson sees stars.

“You hungry?” Gabe asks, when he’s apparently deemed the afterglow over.

Tyson manages, barely, to lift his head. “What kind of question is that?” he asks.

Gabe snorts. “Okay, come on, I’ll feed you.”

“Oooh, food and entertainment, is this a full-service establishment now, Gabriel?” Tyson asks, rolling over on the bed so he can fish for his boxers. Usually it takes a lot more whining to get Gabe to make him food.

Gabe’s face does something weird. “This is a place where I’m hungry,” he says, snippy. “So I might as well make food for more than one.”

“Hey, you want to feed me, I’m not complaining.” Tyson wriggles his boxers on, and watches idly as Gabe gets a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, which he pulls on without underwear, because he definitely lives to kill Tyson. That impression isn’t helped by him not bothering with a shirt. “Can we have waffles?”

Gabe grins at him, wanders over to the bed and ruffles Tyson’s hair, which makes Tyson make a face at him. He knows his hair is a mess—some people aren’t blessed with hair that goes from elegantly coifed to charmingly dishabille. Then Gabe leans down, and for a second, it’s almost like he’s going to kiss Tyson. Tyson’s head tilts up instinctively.

Instead— “No,” He tells Tyson, seriously. “We’re sticking to the diet plan.” Tyson huffs out a breath, and Gabe is definitely laughing at him as he wanders downstairs. Tyson grabs his shit and pulls it back on, then goes downstairs too.

Gabe remains firm on the waffles, but he does warm up some leftover chicken and pasta, which they eat in the living room while hypothetically watching TV but really spending most of their time bickering about what TV to watch. In the end, Tyson only has time to watch a single episode of the Office before he looks at his watch.

“Shit, I told Nate I’d hang out with him tonight, I should go home and shower.”

“He could come over here,” Gabe suggests. Tyson’s already getting up.

“Nah, we’ve got some very important bro time.” Gabe still looks pouty, so Tyson rolls his eyes. “He talked me into playing Fortnite with him, trust me, you don’t want any part of it.”

“You wouldn’t have to play Fortnite here,” Gabe mutters. “ _I_ ’d—” Then he cuts off.

“Yeah? You think you can hold out against Mac?” Tyson asks. “Because I’m not really great at it.”

“I could,” Gabe insists, his chest puffing out a little. Tyson mentally slaps at himself. That was a rookie mistake, in getting Gabe to dig his feet in. “I can. I’m Captain, it’s my job.”

“Yeah, you are, bro.” Tyson pats Gabe’s arm. “But I’m the best friend, so it’s my job to humor his ridiculous obsessions. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I—yeah,” Gabe agrees. He gets up too when Tyson does, even though Tyson can find his way to the door. Maybe Gabe’s new season thing is always walking people to the door. “Hey. Bye.”

“Bye?” Tyson replies, a little confused by Gabe’s newfound politeness, but then Gabe’s tilting his chin up to kiss him thoroughly, until his knees are weak and his face is probably red with beard burn again. “Um. Yeah. Bye. I guess. I mean. Nate can wait,” Tyson stammers, when Gabe lets him go.

Gabe grins, smug, because he’s a dick. “No, you were very busy,” he tells Tyson. “Tell Nate hi for me.”

“You’re a dick,” Tyson tells him, and leaves to Gabe’s satisfied laughter.

* * *

They win the home opener, which is always an awesome feeling, and it means that Tyson’s got the going out thing planned about as soon as the media leaves.

“Captain our captain!” he yells, when Gabe comes back in from the showers, “You’re coming with us, yeah?”

“Oh I am?” Gabe asks, but he’s grinning—beaming in that way it’s hard to look at, sometimes. He always has a certain air after games they win, a certain smug satisfaction that makes Tyson think of the one time during the off season he’d hung around a cabin while a bunch of wolves went off for a full moon hunt and Jamie had come back and laid in front of the fireplace, licking blood from his teeth. Except like. Gabe’s is in a sexy way, where Jamie was just kind of gross and Tyson had yelled at him to go wash his face before he turned back.

“You are,” Tyson tells him. “We need to start the season strong.”

“We just did start the season strong.”

“Exactly. So, you’ll be there, great.” Tyson turns away from Gabe before he can object, which is often the best way to deal with him. Gabe needs to come; and this way he will. “Willy, you’re not going to be lame and stay home, are you?”

Behind him, he can hear Gabe’s snort, but Tyson ignores him. He’s on a mission.

He succeeds on his mission, too—all the non-married, non-old guys come out, and they even get a couple of the marrieds after Tyson turns his ‘but don’t you care about team bonding?’ argument on them, which is makes most of them laugh and roll their eyes but also come out for a drink.

Tyson does the planning pretty well too, if he does say so himself—usually they just end up at a bar or something, but this is the season opener, so he gets them a VIP section at a club that’s boring enough that everyone should be satisfied.

“How’d you get this last minute?” Kerfy asks when they all crowd in, spreading out over the booths. He doesn’t even have to shout to be heard over the music, because up here it’s almost audible.

“I am a man of many talents.”

“He slept with the owner,” Nate inserts. Tyson makes his most offended face at him. That is betraying a trust.

“That is—Kevin and I are friends, and maybe he did me a favor, because we are friends—”

“But you have slept with him,” Gabe asks--maybe more demands—as he edges Willy out of the way to sit down in the booth next to Tyson, so Tyson’s trapped between him and the wall.

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Yes, fine. We hook up sometimes. But we are also friends, and you all—” he glares around the table. “Should be thankful, because it got you this space, so you all can just be quiet.”

“Fine. Where’s our drinks, so we can toast to Tyson’s sluttiness getting us the red carpet treatment?” EJ looks around expectantly, like he expects a round of drinks to just appear in front of them.

“Fuck you,” Tyson throws back, at the same time Gabe snaps,

“EJ.”

Both EJ and Tyson give Gabe confused looks. Gabe shrugs. “Come on, can’t we be nice for a change?” he asks, and it’s like Tyson can watch him physically make the effort to relax his shoulders as he says it.

“What? No.”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don’t think you would recognize us if we were nice,” Tyson points out. “Also, then you would have to be nice, and I definitely wouldn’t recognize you then.” Gabe laughs, and nudges Tyson with his shoulder.

“Probably not,” he agrees. Whatever weirdness from before seems to be gone, and it’s just Gabe again.   

“Anyway,” Tyson goes on, before it can come back, because he likes smiley happy Gabe more than he probably should, and also because he’s thirsty, “As captain it’s your job to get the first round,” Tyson informs him.

“Or you’re just cheap,” Gabe shoots back, grinning.

“I don’t know. I think as our high earner, Nate—” EJ starts

“Hey I got two points tonight!” Nate objects.

“So you should share your luck with the team, yeah, you’ve got a point,” Tyson agrees with EJ. He knows how this works. “So Nate gets first—”

“I’ll get it,” Gabe inserts. Tyson exchanges a satisfied look with EJ. Wolves are so predictable. Gabe rolls his eyes. “I do know what you did there.”

“So are you getting me my drink, or….” Tyson asks, smiling innocently, and Gabe makes an irritated noise that sounds more wolfish than anything before he gets up to find a server or something.

“Hey.” EJ kicks at Tyson’s leg, so he turns to him. “You know I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, we’re cool.” Tyson maybe is a little slutty, he doesn’t really care. So he has a bunch of friends he sleeps with when they’re both in the mood. He doesn’t see anything wrong with that. And if it also means he has friends he can call to get them into clubs, that’s also great. “I don’t know why Gabe was weird. No,” he goes on, “Actually, it’s because he’s Landesnerd, there we go.”

EJ snorts, and they let it go.

Gabe gets back soon enough with a server to take their order, and what looks like a fruity drink in his hands.

“Here,” he says, shoving it at Tyson. “So you don’t bitch.” He looks actually a little annoyed about it.

“I wasn’t bitching,” Tyson protests. “That was EJ.” He takes a sip—he doesn’t know what it is but it is sugar and tequila and that is enough for him, as Gabe must have known. “Mm. Thanks, though.”

“You’re welcome.” Gabe sits back down next to Tyson, but he’s got his normal fond exasperated look on as he looks at Tyson, so that’s all good now, apparently. “I slaved over it, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a real hardship to go all the way to the bar to order it.”

“My sweat and tears and blood, Tyson. That’s what went into this.”

Tyson makes a face at the drink. It’s more green than red, but. “If you actually bled in this, we need to have a talk about what things are okay with wolves but not with humans.”

“What? Ew, no. I’m not a vampire.”

“More to the point, Tyson’s not a vampire,” EJ points out. “I mean. Probably. Do we have proof?”

“I think we have plenty of proof.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like something a vampire would say.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tyson mutters, elbowing Gabe in the side. Gabe takes it with a low oof, then laughs and stretches out his arm so it reaches across the booth, behind Tyson. Which is fine. Gabe has ridiculous long arms; they need to go somewhere. It’s not like they’ve never gone behind Tyson’s head before. Matt’s doing it to his wife in the next booth over, but it’s fine, it’s what happens with long armed guys.

Most of the team lingers for the first drink, chatting and waiting to be drunk enough to properly humiliate themselves. Or maybe that’s just Tyson. But he’s happy to sit here too and shoot the shit with Gabe and EJ, and Willy when he comes by too, just chatting about nothing at all and riding the wave of their win.

“Everyone enjoying themselves here?” Someone interrupts their argument about the proper time to buy a Halloween costume—as early as possible is clearly the right answer, but Gabe incorrectly thinks that you can’t think about Halloween until October—to say. Tyson looks up, and grins.

“Kevin! I didn’t know you’d be here today.” He starts to lever himself out of his seat to greet Kevin properly, realizes he’s penned in by Gabe, and instead holds out a fist to bump.

“You know me, always the working man.” Kevin, a big black man with awesome dreads and a tight, dark shirt, laughs. His smile is a brilliant, stark contrast to the darkness of his skin. “But I knew my favorite jock would be coming in, so I wanted to say hi.”

“Aw, I’m your favorite?” Tyson asks, fluttering his eyelashes. Kevin chuckles again, a low sound that reminds Tyson that they haven’t hooked up in a while.

“You going to introduce us, Four?” Gabe asks, doing a sort of nudging move with his side so that they end up closer together, his arm sort of more on Tyson’s shoulders than the booth.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Guys, this is my friend Kevin, he’s the one who’s favor we’re using tonight. _Don’t_ say anything,” he tells EJ, who is the most likely to on purpose say something about Tyson’s sluttiness to try to make fun of him. “Kevin, this is Willy, EJ, and Gabe, the other guys are around.”

“So you’re Tyson’s club hook-up,” EJ says, his face blank. Tyson kicks him, very hard, but Kevin just laughs. “Nice to finally meet you. Thanks for all the times you’ve gotten us into places.”

“I think being the Avs does that plenty,” Kevin tells him, because he’s chill like that. Willy introduces himself too, and then Gabe hold out a hand—not the hand that’s over Tyson’s shoulder, which makes sense, because that’s his right hand and that’s what you shake hands with.

“Gabe Landeskog,” he says, and he’s smiling but—his eyes aren’t crinkling in the way they usually do when he’s actually smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, man. Tys talks about you a lot.” Kevin shakes his hand, still chill.

“Does he?” Gabe asks, still with that edge, and a handshake that looks harder than it needs to be—then he swallows, and suddenly his arm isn’t over Tyson’s shoulders anymore; it’s firmly on the booth. “I mean, I’d say that I hoped there were only good things, but I don’t think Tys is capable of that.”

“That’s blatantly untrue, I say a lot of nice things about you,” Tyson scoffs. “I say too many nice things about you, it’s the worst, actually. I have a problem stopping saying nice things about you. Like now.” He doesn’t think he’s fooling himself when he sees those crinkles come into Gabe’s eyes again.

“He says good things. Sometimes.”

“I’m better at doing other things with my mouth,” Tyson agrees, and EJ and Willy snort. Gabe twitches. Kevin grins at him, and definitely looks at Tyson’s mouth, so, score. “Like eating and shit, wow, get your minds out of the gutter!”

“Sure, eating,” Kevin replies, and Tyson flushes at the entendre heavy in that.

“I’m getting a drink,” Gabe announces suddenly, and then Tyson’s whole right side goes cold when he moves.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll flag Kate down, she can—” Kevin starts, but Gabe shakes his head and stands up.

“No, I’m going to dance.” Standing, Gabe’s a few inches shorter than Kevin, but he’s got just—a presence that makes him seem as tall. He always does. “I’m—bye.”

Definitely weird. But whatever, Landy’s a weird dude, Tyson’s accepted that’s part of being friends with him. “So, Kevin,” Tyson says, scooting closer to the edge of the booth now that Gabe’s gone. “This place is great. Super, like, beige.”

“Yeah, we want to be a blank slate for you to create your own night,” Kevin agrees. Willy nods enthusiastically. Tyson suspects that if he said shit like that, he’d get very chirped. “You seen more of it than just this?”

“Not yet.”

“Well I’ve got to make rounds, but. I’ll find you in a bit, yeah?”

Tyson takes a slow sip of his drink, licks the leftover liquid off his lips. “Yeah, for sure.”

“You owe me a drink just for making me watch that,” EJ informs him, once Kevin leaves. “I didn’t come tonight to watch you arrange a hook up.”

“I didn’t come to arrange a hook up! It just happened. Or it probably will, he’s actually kind of flaky, not because of him but because sometimes things explode here and he’s the one who has to deal with them, so actually we’re still sort of 50-50 on whether the hook up will actually happen.” Which sucks, because now Tyson’s remembering that thing Kevin does with his tongue, and he really misses that.

“I don’t care, drinks for both of us,” Willy says, and if it was traumatizing enough that Willy was giving him shit about it, then Tyson can cave to the inevitable.

So he goes and gets them waters, then he finds Nate and dances with him for a while, and then he ends up dancing with Z which is hilarious, and then he dances with some girl who apparently finds his dancing something other than hilarious, which makes him doubt her taste on any number of levels, and then he ends up at the bar proper, because he’s thirsty and he doesn’t want to wait for a server.

“Hey.” Arms wrap around his shoulders and a big body drapes itself over his back.

“Hey yourself,” Tyson tells Gabe, shifting so that he can carry Gabe’s weight better. Gabe gets like this sometimes when he’s drunk, handsy and cuddly. It is, despite himself, one of the things Tyson misses when Gabe’s in a relationship and they’re the person who gets the brunt of it.

Gabe hums and shifts with him, hunching over so he can press his face against Tyson’s neck, which can’t be comfortable, which Tyson tells him.

“It’s not, it’s—” Gabe waves a hand, like that’ll explain anything. “You smell good.”

“I smell gross,” Tyson counters. He knows what’s up and how much he sweats when he dances.

“You smell like you,” Gabe tells him, all big smiles. Then Tyson yelps a little, because that is definitely Gabe’s tongue on his neck. “Now you smell like me.”

“That is a lot less sexy here than it is in bed,” Tyson tells him.

“Hm.” Gabe does it again, then lifts his head. “You haven’t hooked up with Kevin.”

“Not yet today, no.”   

“Good.” Tyson’s in the middle of figuring out how to react to that when Gabe goes on, “I mean—you should. Good. Should. You should.” Gabe straightens, so less of his weight is on Tyson. It brings his face out of easy sight from Tyson’s peripheral, though. “He seems like a good guy. And he’s really hot.”

“He is,” Tyson agrees. “But I mean, my dad likes him, so…” He wiggles his hand, and Gabe laughs.

“How does your dad know him?”

“I don’t know, dad knows people.”

“Your dad likes me.”

“Yeah, because you’re good at hockey.”

“He likes me for other reasons too,” Gabe adds, sounding testy, which is not the vibe Tyson was going for, so he reaches back to pat Gabe’s head.

“Okay, yeah, you are definitely a big hit with all the Barrie men,” Tyson assures him. “And women, mom and Victoria are both like half in love with you. So don’t worry.”

“Good.” Gabe ducks his head again, and Tyson only vaguely hears, over the music, “You should hook up with Kevin. If you want to.”

“Thanks for the permission,” Tyson drawls back, which gets a canine-sounding huff in his ear.

“That’s not what I—you can hook up with whoever you want to, obviously.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tyson doesn’t know what’s up with this, but he’s put up with Gabe being weird enough for tonight. “But right now you’re going to go get me a drink because you’re bigger than me and—shut up,” he interjects, when Gabe smirks— “And then we’re going to dance, so, go on.”

“Someday you’re going to buy your own drink,” Gabe says mournfully, but he’s already moving past Tyson to push his way through the crowd, so Tyson’s not really convinced.

* * *

They play more hockey—they win more than they lose, which isn’t really a novelty anymore but it’s something Tyson will never take for granted—and they travel and sometimes Tyson finds himself in Gabe’s room, because it’s always easier to just hook up with Gabe than find someone else unless he has a friend in where ever they are. And it’s not like that’s ever not fun, whether it’s Gabe pinning Tyson to the bed, like he’s been into lately, or Tyson blowing Gabe until he’s deadweight and just smiles blissfully at Tyson, which Tyson’s always into, or whatever else they do, because after this many years of fucking they are still excellent at sex.

But Tyson’s always been very careful not to just fuck Gabe for a long period of time—there’s convenience, but then there’s making sure he keeps himself sane, because long periods of exposure just to Gabe sometimes have him thinking things that aren’t safe at all—and so when they’re home he hooks up with his other friends too, and when they’re travelling Tyson still knows people in all sorts of cities, players and not players both. And then sometimes the players come to him, which is also ideal.

“Want to grab dinner?” Nate asks, as they walk out of practice the day before the Preds game. He slings an arm over Tyson’s shoulder, touchy as all wolves. “We could go to that Mexican place.”

“What Mexican place?” Gabe demands, popping up on Nate’s other side. Tyson nearly jumps, because he definitely was talking to the rookies a second ago. Nate barely twitches. “Have you been holding out on me, Mac?”

“Some things are T-Beauty and Nate-Dog sacred secrets, sorry,” Tyson tells him, which makes Gabe scowl, because he hates being left out of things. “And anyway, I can’t, I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing?” Gabe asks.

Nate grins. “A Preds shaped thing?”

“Well, his thing isn’t exactly Preds shaped,” Tyson throws back. “But yeah, I’m chilling with Roman.”

“So I guess I shouldn’t expect you for breakfast tomorrow either?”  

“He’ll have to be back for curfew,” Tyson protests, because there are some things he doesn’t fuck with.

“Josi? Really?” Gabe asks, scorn dripping from the words.

“Yes, really. Because we’re friends.”

“Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Do you want me to bring that up when we play Buffalo?” Tyson asks, holding the door to the parking garage open for Nate and Gabe.

“I’m not fucking Skins.”

Tyson glances around. No one’s there, other than the team who all now and know how to ignore them anyway. “Say it a little louder, please. Let’s tell the world who I’m fucking.”

“Isn’t that what you do anyway?” 

“And I do it on my terms,” Tyson snaps, and glares. Gabe can be a dick, but that’s crossing a line. “So—don’t.”

Gabe lets out a breath, closes his eyes like he’s counting. “Yeah. Sorry.”

That makes Tyson do a double take. He doesn’t always take Gabe’s bossy alpha shit, but it usually doesn’t go this far. “I’m sorry, did you just apologize to me?”

“I think he did,” Nate chips in. “We should get a recording.”

“Witnessed! It happened. I think we need to take a picture, to memorialize it.”

“Fuck both of you,” Gabe tells them cheerfully, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll leave that to Brutes, thanks,” Nate retorts, and then Gabe has to split off to go to his car, with another baleful look at Tyson like he’s betraying something by hooking up with Roman.

Nate leaves Tyson at home, which gives him enough time to do a light clean so it doesn’t look like a total disaster. Roman knows he is a disaster, but he doesn’t like to highlight it.

Roman’s plane gets delayed, so he doesn’t get to Tyson’s until later in the evening, and it’s always good to fuck around with him—he’s pushy and intense in all the right ways, alpha-y in a different way than Gabe but still satisfying. Then after they clean up a little, and Tyson leans against the counter as he makes them a late dinner. It’s not that Tyson can’t cook, but he does like the look of a hot person making him food. Gabe should make him food more often—or maybe he shouldn’t, because that goes in the dangerous box Tyson doesn’t touch.

Tyson’s idly considering whether he should offer to help—he’s leaning towards no—when the doorbell rings.

“Be right back,” Tyson tells Roman, who waves at him to go, and then he heads to the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asks when he pulls it open and Gabe’s there, looking just the right side of messy-casual in sweatpants and a t-shirt, like he rolled out of bed to come here.

Gabe’s lips press together, then, “I wanted to apologize again,” he says, weirdly stiff. “For this afternoon. It was out of line of me.”

“Yeah, it was, but like—I know you know that.” Tyson shrugs. Holding grudges is exhausting. “And I’m not a hypocrite enough that I’m going to get pissed at you for saying the wrong thing in the wrong place.”

“Generous of you,” Gabe teases, then makes a face, mainly, it seems, at himself. “Anyway. I brought a peace offering.” He holds out a box from Tyson’s favorite bakery, which Tyson snatches from him. He opens it to reveal a slice of rich, delicious-looking red velvet cake.

“Oh, wow, thanks,” Tyson cocks his head at Gabe. “Are you condoning me breaking my meal plan?”

“We can call it a T-Beauty and Gabe the Babe secret,” Gabe tells him, weirdly earnest for something that deserves an eyeroll so much. “You like it?”

“It looks great.” Tyson glances over his shoulder. “I mean, Roman’s making us dinner now, but I might sneak it in first.”

“Roman’s making you—” Gabe’s nostrils flare for a second. “I thought he’d be in the hotel by now.”

“Nope, still here.” That’s Roman, who’s wandered into the hall. For a second, Tyson wishes they looked a little less obviously like they’d been fooling around—but that’s stupid. Gabe knows what they’ve been doing. Gabe doesn’t care what they’ve been doing. Gabe’s always known and never cared, or only cared that it was Roman and he had his weird thing against Roman. “We got a late start. Landeskog.” He nods.

“Josi,” Gabe replies, also nodding. His shoulders look like they could be carved out of stone. They’re very clearly not tilting their heads at all, nothing that could be hinted at submission. “Glad to see you’re taking care of Tyson.”

“Oh I think he feels very taken care of.” Roman smirks.

“He does,” Tyson agrees. There are definitely weird vibes he’s getting here, with the way Gabe’s glaring, his hands curled into fists; with the way Roman’s looking at Gabe, like something isn’t quite connecting. “So, um. I’m going to go put this in the fridge.”

“Good idea. I hope you enjoy it,” Gabe says, louder and more pointed than it has to be. Then he glares at Roman. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Roman agrees, and then no one moves, so Tyson eventually shuts the door because otherwise they might all freeze to death.

“So what was that?” Roman asks, as he follows Tyson back into the kitchen.

“I don’t know. Gabe’s always had his weird thing about you, you know that.” Tyson carefully puts the cakebox into the refrigerator. After dinner, he decides. Maybe after he’s dropped Roman off. Somehow he doesn’t want to share Gabe’s apology cake. “I think he has a thing about wolf captains, he’s weird with Jamie too.”

“Uh-huh.” Roman doesn’t sound convinced, as he dishes up what looks like a great paella. “You do know your house stinks of him.”

“Yeah, because we’re friends. He’s over here a bunch. And he’s, you know. Packy.”

Roman chuckles. “That’s not a word.”

“Well it should be.” Tyson’s known plenty of wolves in his day, and some of them are more packy than others, in the same way he thinks some people are more family-oriented than others.

“Okay, whatever you say, Tys.” Roman shakes his head. “But—be careful. He wasn’t even trying to be polite.”

“He was plenty polite,” Tyson protests, immediately defensive. He likes Roman fine, but Gabe’s his—captain. His friend. His a lot of things.

“That’s not what I—there was just a lot of wolf there for casual conversation.” Roman holds up his hands. “That’s all I meant.”

“Gabe won’t hurt me.” There are some things in life Tyson is sure of. Sure, maybe Gabe’s not the best at keeping his human and wolf sides separate, and he knows that’s sort of rude in wolf circles, but it’s never bothered Tyson. Gabe would die rather than hurt Tyson. That’s just a baseline truth.

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Tyson states, as firmly as he can. He takes a firm bite of the paella to punctuate the conversation.

They eat, and then they fool around some more until Tyson has to drive Roman back to his hotel. He bids him farewell with a hug and some cheerful trash talk for the game, then goes home.

It’s when he’s pulling into the garage that he sees what he thinks is a flash of a pale, furry tail. “If that’s you, Gabe, you’re being creepy!” Tyson tells the bushes beside his house, but there’s no answer, and he lets it go. Either he just yelled at a raccoon or Gabe won’t ever talk about it.

The game the next day is chippy, but Gabe only gets into a little fight with Roman, so none of Roman’s significant faces at Tyson when they both head to the box means anything. Gabe always fights Roman, and he gave Tyson apology cake. It all makes sense in the world.

* * *

They’re heading solidly into winter when they’re home for a full moon. They don’t have time to go out to where there’s good hunting, or so Nate’s been bitching about for the last few weeks, but Tyson’s known enough wolves to know what happens to them around the full moon, so he stocks up on a lot of raw meat and invites EJ and Kerfy over to eat some non-raw meat before the wolves finish their run.

The three of them fuck around with video games for most of the night. They’ve done it before, any number of times, when the full moon falls on nights like these, so they all know the drill. It’s a nice chance to play something other than Fortnite, because neither Nate nor Comphy are there to insist.

They’re well into their tournament and Tyson is actually winning for once when there are some short, loud barks from outside and a thump that means that someone is impatient to come inside.

“Give us a sec!” Tyson demands, dropping a shell and cheering as Kerfy curses.

Another bark, that somehow manages to be impatient and bossy. Tyson doesn’t know how he does it.

“I got it,” EJ says, because he’s not in the competition. Tyson vaguely registers him getting up, then the door opening, and the clicking of nails on tiles, then—

“You dick!” Tyson swears, as Gabe headbutts him hard enough that he almost falls over, and definitely steers himself off the track. “I was winning!” Tyson’s only consolation is that there’s a dark brown wolf sitting on Kerfy, because Josty’s got Tyson’s back.

Gabe gives him a cheerful canine grin, then headbutts his shoulder again. Tyson rolls his eyes and shoves his muzzle away, then scratches the red fur at his head, because Gabe in any form is a slut for people touching his hair. He reaches out to Nate too, when he comes over from where he’d been bugging EJ; pets at his ears then shuffles forward so that Nate can get behind him, like they usually do.

Except this time two wolves try for the space—Gabe’s shoulder hits Nate’s, and then they both draw back, surprised. Gabe’s teeth are bared and he’s snarling, not ceding any space, and Nate barks, clearly confused.

“Hey,” Tyson says, because he’s not having any fights on his hardwood. “I can—”

But then Gabe’s teeth disappear, and he retreats back a step. Everyone in the room, except maybe JT and Josty, who are currently playing some sort of chasing each other’s tails game, gives Gabe a weird look, but he ignores it, so Nate wiggles in between Tyson and the couch so Tyson can lean back against him. Nate flicks his tail into Tyson’s lap; Tyson shoves it away. Tyson can almost forget Gabe’s weirdness—he knows that’s Nate’s spot.

“I was winning before you guys fucked it up,” Tyson informs them. Nate barks, sounding very unapologetic. “Good run?”

Another couple of barks, this time from Nate and JT both. Tyson nods. “Great.”

“Do you know what they mean?” Kerfy asks. Tyson shrugs.

“No, but like, that’s not unusual.” Nate growls and nips at Tyson’s knee, playful. “I always know what Nate’s going to say anyway.”

Something nudges at his knee—Tyson expects it to be Nate’s tail, because he knows it’s irritating, but instead it’s Gabe’s nose. He looks a little repentant, but it’s not his fault that the moon’s playing with him. Tyson knows how the moon can make wolves—even more packy and possessive than usual.

“Yeah, come on, I’ve still got room,” Tyson says, and Gabe gives him another grin and flops onto his lap.

“I’m really feeling the love,” EJ points out, looking to where Tyson’s sitting, probably more fur than person at this point, with Nate at his back and Gabe in front. Gabe barks, something that’s clearly a fuck you; Tyson flips him off before he goes back to petting Gabe. He doesn’t care what EJ says, he’s comfortable and warm, covered in wolf fur; he can feel Nate breathing, a comforting rhythm, and Gabe’s heavy and present.

“Just for that, Kerfy can beat you, I’m clearly busy,” Tyson tells him, and chucks the controller at him. EJ catches it and rolls his eyes, but then they settle down.

They spend another few hours like that, trading video games as the wolves lounge. Eventually Tyson gets up and throws all the raw meat down in dishes, which Gabe gives his usual distasteful look like he thinks he’s above bowls, but Tyson has put his foot down about what he’s putting on the floor and Gabe knows it, so he gives in and eats. But even after that they settle back into the same position, though somehow Gabe manages to be even more on top of Tyson. It’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s nice all the same—it feels a bit like when Tyson was a kid and hanging out with the players’ kids, wolves and humans both, and they all got into the habit of napping in piles like this. Or like camping on the Island, when they’d all do this for warmth. It feels safe. It feels home, Tyson enveloped by his wolves.

Eventually, EJ yawns and gets up. “Okay, time for me to get home,” he says.

Tyson makes to get up—Gabe gives him an unimpressed look and shifts so that Tyson remains firmly pinned. Apparently he’s comfortable. “Well. I guess I’m staying here, but thanks for coming,” Tyson says. EJ laughs, and pushes at Gabe’s tail with his foot.

“I can see myself out, I guess.”

“Sorry our captain’s a brat.”

“You should be,” EJ agrees. Gabe barks, offended.

“You not moving kind of proves my point,” Tyson points out, and Gabe barks again and still doesn’t move.

“I should go too,” Kerfy says. He shoves JT off of him and gets to his feet, then looks down at where JT and Josty are sprawled, the red and browns of their furs mixing together where their flanks are touching. “Anyone who wants a ride is leaving now too.”

JT yawns, but Josty gets up, then nudges at JT until he gets up too. Behind Tyson, Nate starts to wriggle again.

“Okay, now you really have to move,” Tyson tells Gabe. Gabe gives him a look that might be better suited to a cat, but he drags himself up, then goes over to say a proper goodbye to JT and Josty.

Tyson tells the humans goodbye, then gives JT and Josty some head scratches as they follow Kerfy out. Nate nudges at his thigh.

“You going too?” Tyson asks. “You know you can crash here.”

Nate shakes his head, then turns to knock shoulders with Gabe. Gabe licks at his shoulder, a little apologetically, nips playfully at his side. Then, suddenly—they both lift up their heads, and start to howl.

Outside, JT and Josty pick it up, the four wolves’ voices rising up and at the full moon; Tyson laughs. There’s something indescribable about hearing the wolves’ howl, something that maybe should strike fear into some primal part of him but somehow only speaks of home.

The howl dies out, and Nate gives Tyson’s hand a sloppy lick before he takes off in the direction of his house.

Tyson looks down at Gabe. “Are you staying?” he asks.

Gabe gives him a haughty look, then trots back down the hallway. “Yes, Tyson, I would love to stay, thank you for offering,” he fills in for Gabe. “Oh, don’t worry about it, I know the run back to your house would be tiring. But Tyson, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, I will definitely do all your dishes and clean up the wolf fur and—” He barely finishes before there’s a bark and then Gabe’s tackling him. Gabe’s using little enough force and Tyson’s aware enough that he goes down to the living room floor hard, but not hard enough to hurt; instead he just swears and pushes at Gabe.

They wrestle like that—Tyson’s got plenty of weight on him in this form, but Tyson’s tired and Gabe’s all wiry strength and he’s clearly playful with the moon, barking and grinning and nipping at Tyson’s clothes—until Tyson’s on his back and panting and Gabe’s lying entirely on top of him, a grin on his muzzle and in those blue eyes.

Then he blurs, and he’s human again, and naked, and still lying on top of Tyson and grinning, brilliant as the moon outside and somehow with the wolf still in him, in his eyes and the way he holds himself.

For a second, he just looks at Tyson, and it’s the sort of look Tyson can’t handle for long, all of Gabe’s intensity and earnest fondness and all the things Tyson could let himself imagine if he let himself do things like that—then he’s biting again, up his jaw, and he’s still playful but it’s with intent now. He gets to the side of Tyson’s cheek, then—

“Nope,” Tyson says, putting up a hand to stop him. “No, I am not kissing you with raw meat breath, go brush your teeth.”

“Seriously?” Gabe demands, but he can’t smell his breath.

“Seriously,” Tyson repeats. He is not budging on this one. Maybe Gabe doesn’t usually stay over like this, after a full moon, but Tyson knows what he’s about. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the guest bathroom.”

Gabe huffs out an irritated breath, but he gets up in a single sinuous motion.

“Don’t move,” he tells Tyson, then goes.

Tyson watches admiringly, then he sits up to strip, so when Gabe comes back he’s in the same place, just naked.

Gabe pauses in the doorway, looking down at him, and it’s all predator. “You moved,” he says, his voice a rasp like he’s howled himself out. 

“Are you complaining?” Tyson retorts, and Gabe hums and stalks forward.

“Maybe.” He drops down again, so he’s lying on top of Tyson again, propped up with a hand on either side of his neck. “Maybe I wanted to do that.”

“I could put clothes back on—”

Gabe growls out a, “no,” and then he kisses Tyson. Gabe’s always been a good kisser, because he’s annoyingly good at everything he does, but this is different—this is the full moon and Gabe’s clearly still teetering on the edge of wolf because the kiss is all teeth and power, fierce without being rough, and Tyson’s panting just to keep up. His fingers dig into Gabe’s shoulders and Gabe makes a low, pleased rumble, moves down from Tyson’s lips to his jaw, his neck, his chest. 

“If you leave marks I’m tattling to the team and you can be the one getting shit about it,” Tyson informs him, when he finds his breath again. Gabe growls at that too, but he leaves off on the teeth a little, which is probably better for overall sanity but Tyson’s disappointed anyway. As if to make up for it, Gabe’s thigh slips between Tyson’s leg, so he can grind against that; Tyson makes a sound that’s more of a whine than he’d like and Gabe’s grin would be irritatingly smug if it wasn’t so attractive.  

It feels like Gabe’s everywhere all at once, pinning Tyson to the floor, all hands and mouth and warm skin, and the whole world focuses down to that—to Gabe’s hands on him, to the muscles of Gabe’s back, the smooth slide of his hair through Tyson’s fingers, the way Gabe looks at him as his mouth closes over Tyson’s dick, the burn of his eyes a wonderful awful contrast with the warm wet heat of his mouth.

He blows Tyson until Tyson is moaning and squirming and on the edge of coming, and then he pulls off, grinning predatorily. “Not yet,” he says, and Tyson scowls.

“Yes yet!” he demands. “Now.”

“No,” Gabe tells him, and kisses him again, which is not a good argument but still blows out Tyson’s mind. “I want to fuck you,” he murmurs, a breath away from Tyson’s lips.

“But—now,” Tyson whines, scraping his fingers over Gabe’s chest. Gabe laughs, low and warm, vibrating through Tyson.

“No,” he says, and kisses Tyson’s protest away.

“Then hurry up,” Tyson demands. “Here.” He tries to wiggle over to the couch, where he thinks there’s some lube hidden; Gabe snarls and tugs him back. Tyson rolls his eyes. “Fine, there’s lube in the couch, get it.”

“The couch?” Gabe asks, looking somewhere between skeptical and amazed. Then, when he produces it—score, Tyson was right—“Seriously?”

“Would you rather have to go upstairs?” Tyson demands, and Gabe looks like he’s seriously considering arguing that before he shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” he tells Tyson instead, and grabs the lube. “Do you magically have a condom here too?”

“Probably.” Tyson thinks for a second—his wallet’s upstairs, but sometimes—“Check the coffee table drawer?”

When that works, Gabe gives him a look that’s way too judgmental for someone who’s about to take advantage of Tyson’s resourcefulness.

“Oh, just fuck me already,” Tyson demands in response. “Or would you rather me tell you the story of why that’s here first?”

Gabe’s eyes go molten again, gold and wolfish, and then he’s back, nipping at Tyson’s inner thigh in a way that sends sparks right to Tyson’s dick. “That’s what I thought—” Tyson gets out, but then Gabe’s got a finger in him and he loses words.

Time stretches, or narrows, and Gabe’s relentless with his fingers, until Tyson can’t take it anymore and shoves Gabe onto his back. Gabe goes easily, and Tyson wants to think it’s because he’s that strong but he has a feeling Gabe just lets him, which is probably hotter anyway, all that power and strength and wildness giving in to Tyson.

“You were taking too long,” Tyson informs him, and then he sinks down onto Gabe’s dick. It’s almost too much all at once, Gabe’s dick in him and his face and the harsh breath Gabe takes. It’s definitely too much to do all that and move too, so Tyson shuts his eyes when he starts to fuck himself on Gabe, moving slowly at first then faster.

Tyson’s getting close again, pushing harder to get over that final edge, when Gabe’s fingers dig into his thigh. “Tys.” He punctuates it with a rock of his hips that makes Tyson moan. “Tys,” Gabe says again, more intent. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Open your eyes,” Gabe tells him, but Tyson keeps his eyes shut, shakes his head. He can’t watch Gabe, not like this. He knows his limits.

“I can’t,” Tyson tells him, and he can’t interpret the sound Gabe makes at that. He can interpret the way Gabe grabs him and rolls them, so Tyson’s back hits the floor and Gabe is weighing him down. Tyson considers being annoyed at the high-handedness there, but his thighs were starting to hurt and also Gabe is really good at fucking him and he can’t quite think.

“Tys.” A finger traces over Tyson’s cheek, pushes some hair out of his face. “Come on, Tys. Open your eyes.” Gabe’s voice is rough and soft at once, somehow, and Tyson’s eyes open of their own accord—and there’s Gabe, all gold and beautiful and smiling like he’s won something and then his hand wraps around Tyson’s dick and strokes him once, twice—and Tyson shakes apart.

Gabe makes a wild sound, smug and vicious and brilliant, and then he’s kissing Tyson again, the sort of kiss that makes the aftershocks somehow keep going. “Fuck, Gabe,” Tyson breathes out, and Gabe grins.

“Can I—” he trails off, glancing away. But his hand trailing over Tyson’s chest is pretty explanatory, if you know Gabe.

“Yeah, sure,” Tyson says, and waves his hand sort of vaguely. Gabe kisses him again, then he’s pulled out and is stripping off the condom, and he just— _looks_ at Tyson as he jerks himself off, coming over Tyson’s chest.

“Ew, gross,” Tyson tells him lazily, as Gabe collapses next to him. Gabe chuckles, and nips at Tyson’s shoulder. Tyson thinks about shoving him away, like he thinks about taking a shower or something, like he thinks about going up to bed. But he can stay here a little longer, he decides, as Gabe’s hand lands on his stomach, stroking idly across it. Just a few more minutes.

* * *

Tyson wakes up sore in all the best ways, needing to piss, and also warmer than he usually is.

He figures out that last one a second after he wakes up—he’s warm because he’s pinned down by a hot body sprawled over him, head on his chest and a leg over his thigh. Tyson looks down at the messy blonde hair on his chest. Okay then. Of course Gabe was tired, after last night. And of course Gabe’s cuddling; he’s a wolf and wolves always like to cuddle.

It doesn’t, however, solve his needing to piss problem. Tyson considers, for a second, whether or not he can just go back to sleep, but in the end he decides that he really can’t, and wriggles to see how he can get free.

Gabe grumbles, shifts so that he’s pinning Tyson down more firmly. Tyson rolls his eyes. “Landy. Let me up,” he mutters, and pushes harder at Gabe. It gets him another low, wolfish sound of discontent.

“Ugh, I’ll be right back,” Tyson tells him. Gabe opens one eye, suspicious and mostly still asleep. “I’ve got to piss, let me up.”

Gabe grumbles, but he rolls over, off of Tyson. Tyson gets up before Gabe decides to change his mind, goes to the bathroom. While he’s there, he hops in the shower; he definitely smells after last night and conserving water is not worth the chirping he’d get at practice.

When he gets back, Gabe’s not there. Tyson’s just starting to be a little irritated—sure they don’t usually sleep over, but they should be bros enough not to sneak out or something, like Gabe’s ashamed of him—when he hears something downstairs. Then he gets even more irritated; if Gabe’s going to sneak out he should at least do it well. Tyson thinks he deserves that.

He grabs a pair of sweatpants and tugs them on, then heads downstairs ready to tell Gabe exactly that. Especially when Tyson was so gracious and let the wolves in last night. And when the sex had been, well. It had been a lot, in a different way than usual, maybe. Tyson’s all for full moon sex, if this is what it’s always like. Or maybe he shouldn’t be, if this is what it’s always like and he wants to stay sane.

“You know, you could at least—” Tyson starts, following the noise to the kitchen, then cuts off. “What are you doing?”

Gabe’s standing in his kitchen, in front of the fridge. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants he must have unearthed from somewhere, because they actually fit him, and an Avalanche t-shirt that is also presumably Tyson’s, given the 4 on the back. Gabe’s wearing his clothes. It makes sense, Tyson decides, refusing to feel anything else; Gabe hadn’t exactly come over with any clothes on. Of course he needed Tyson’s.

“Making breakfast,” Gabe explains. He reaches into the refrigerator, brings out a carton of eggs and the quart of milk.

Tyson knows his eyes light up. “Are you making me waffles?”

“No, I’m making us eggs.” Gabe chuckles at the face Tyson makes.

“You’re no fun.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to die of malnutrition,” he suggests. Tyson shakes his head.

“No, it’s definitely the fun thing.” He tries to get around Gabe, to go to the coffee machine—Gabe may have been hyped up on full moon adrenaline last night, but he just feels like he stayed up too late. Gabe doesn’t move. “Gabe. I need my—oh, thanks,” he says, when Gabe grabs a mug and hands it to him. It’s just as sweet as he likes.

Gabe’s eying him, looking somehow satisfied as Tyson hums out his pleasure. “You know that much sugar makes it basically just soda, right?”

“Yep,” Tyson agrees cheerfully, taking another sip. “More energy that way.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Are you a scientist?”

“No. But neither are you,” Gabe points out, before Tyson can do it for him.

“Yeah, well. You still made it for me,” Tyson retorts, taking another sip. Gabe does that weird smile thing again, then goes back to making eggs.

“So, um.” Gabe pours the beaten eggs onto a skillet as he talks, looking like it takes a lot more concentration than it should. “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed some clothes?”

“I’ll live,” Tyson tells him. He should probably offer to help, but also Gabe isn’t asking, so he figures he’s allowed to be lazy. Gabe making him food is even hotter than Roman doing it. “I was considering making this a nudist household, but Nate said he wouldn’t come over if I did.”

Gabe snorts. “That’s the reason you didn’t?”

“Well, and cooking without pants seems risky,” Tyson admits. He’s done it before, but it’s not pretty. He knows himself and his accident-prone tendencies. “Also, my mom stays here. So pants are allowed.”

“Very reasonable.”

“I know, right? I’m so reasonable.” Tyson manages to keep a straight face through that, which he’s pretty proud of. “Apparently I even provide pants now in all sizes. It’s basically a department store in here.”

“Yeah.” Gabe pokes at the skillet with a spatula, even though Tyson knows he likes his eggs a lot firmer than that. He’s complained about it enough at hotels. “I thought these seemed too big for you. You know, normal-sized.”

“I’m sorry my ass takes up more room than most,” Tyson retorts. “Anyway, I don’t think those are mine. Someone must have left them.”

Gabe hums. Pokes at the skillet again. “Someone taller than you.”

“I guess? I don’t really know.” That would be the easiest explanation—Tyson tends to throw everything people leave here into a drawer and forget about it.

Gabe makes a throaty, wolfish sound Tyson doesn’t really get, but sounds frustrated. “Eggs are done,” he announces. Tyson personally thinks they still look a little underdone, and says so as he takes out plates. It gets an offended scoff out of Gabe, and a threat not to give Tyson any which Tyson might be worried isn’t empty except for that he literally says it as he cuts the eggs in half.

He still threatens to steal the plate back through all of breakfast in the same breath as he glares Tyson into eating all of it, because he’s a parody of a captain sometimes and apparently this season he thinks Tyson’s, like, in danger of wasting away from malnutrition if left to his own devices.

“If you’re so worried about that, you should just cook me all my meals,” Tyson points out. He can cook fine, thank you very much, but also he’s not turning down other people making him food. “You can be my personal chef.”

Tyson’s expecting Gabe to give him a lot of shit for it—he’s always found Tyson’s scavenging tendencies amusing—but he just takes a bite of eggs, his hand tight around his fork. It looks a little like he’s considering it.

“Or, I mean. You could hire me one,” Tyson goes on. If Gabe’s in a weird mood he can just keep talking. “A hot one, ideally. Do they have live in chefs? Or just ones who visit daily and look hot cooking in my kitchen? I’m sure that service exists. Is it not prostitution if being hot is just a bonus? I wouldn’t make them—”

“That’s not happening,” Gabe cuts in, firm. Tyson pouts, exaggeratedly.

“But how else am I supposed to get nutrition, Gabe? You don’t trust me to do it myself. Hot chef is the only other—”

“No one else is making you meals,” Gabe snaps. They both take a bite of their eggs. They’re definitely underdone. Maybe it’s a full moon thing, Gabe still in the mindset of the wolf and wanting things raw.

“I do actually feed myself,” Tyson points out, after they’ve been quiet for too long. He just wants that established. He knows he can be a disaster, but he is an adult. Sometimes.

Gabe lets out a breath. “I know.” He kicks at Tyson’s shin, companionable. “Just not when you can help it, right?”

“It’s just efficient! EJ always makes too much food, I’m saving him from himself,” Tyson protests. “You do it too.”

“Well, yeah. EJ,” Gabe agrees, like that explains everything. Tyson chuckles, and they get distracted by discussing the most ridiculous things they think they could goad EJ into cooking for them.

They have practice that afternoon, so Gabe stretches once they’re done and the dishwasher is loaded. “I should go.”

“I could do a pre-practice nap,” Tyson admits. He looks at Gabe, casual and comfortable in his kitchen, looking like he doesn’t particularly want to leave. He could suggest he stay for that too, that the two of them should go back to bed for another round and a nap. Or just a nap; Tyson really is getting too old for full moon all-nighters. It would be a stupid, dangerous thing to suggest, but for the first time in a while Tyson’s tempted to just do it.

Gabe makes a face, half-reluctant half-something else. “You don’t have to stay up for us on full moons,” he says. Tyson just scoffs.

“Sure, and you guys can just run home and take care of that yourself,” he retorts. He’s not an idiot. He’s seen how the wolves can crash, if they don’t have room to hunt and run or food and a safe space to stay. “I’ll just tell coach that you got run over on your way home from a run, that’ll go over real well.”

“I wouldn’t get run over,” Gabe protests.

“Then EJ would have to be captain,” Tyson goes on. He shudders dramatically. “Can you imagine? All our team bonding would be at a ranch. I’d probably actually have to learn to ride a horse.”

“But you’re so good at riding,” Gabe inserts, and Tyson grins.

“Damn right I am.” Gabe rolls his eyes, like he didn’t totally instigate that one. Tyson smirks back. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”  There. He’s being smart, for once.

“Thanks.” Gabe trails after Tyson as he goes upstairs to grab his keys, like the puppy he sometimes is, then back down to the door. He’s still barefoot, but there’s not much Tyson can do about that. People tend not to forget shoes.  

They pick up their usual, never-ending argument about music in the car—Tyson has yet to convince Gabe that there is more to music than boy band pop, but he hasn’t given up hope yet—and Gabe concedes to the driver chooses the music rule only to bitch about it the whole way to his house.

“Fine, get out of my car, then,” Tyson orders, when he pulls up next to Gabe’s house. “Go have your own singalong.”

“Thank you, I will. And you’re not invited,” Gabe informs him. He unbuckles his seat belt, then hesitates. “I’ll get you these clothes back,” he tells Tyson, slowly.

Tyson shrugs. “Whatever, it’s not like I’m using them.”

“Oh. Then maybe I won’t,” Gabe retorts, snooty but smiling, way more smug than that dseerved. He hesitates, then leans over, kisses Tyson, quick but firm. “Thanks again. See you at practice.”

Tyson swallows. “Yeah. See you,” he says, and watches as Gabe gets out of the car. Good-bye kisses. Gabe’s European is really showing.

* * *

Tyson likes to think he knows himself fairly well, so he can tell, when his thoughts are getting dangerous. When he’s in danger of tipping over that breaking point into emotions he and Gabe aren’t supposed to have. And that morning—waking up to Gabe cuddling him, Gabe in his kitchen handing him perfectly made coffee, Gabe kissing him good-bye—that’s almost a breaking point.

And because he’s not an idiot who’s going to let himself tip over that edge, it means he needs a reminder. He and Gabe are friends who fuck, like half a dozen of Tyson’s other friends—like people Tyson doesn’t know are his friends yet. He needs to remember there are other people.

He gets that in Anaheim, when they’re out at a bar and no one cares who they are because there are a lot more interesting people in LA than a hockey team that just lost a game.

Normally, on away games, Tyson hooks up with Gabe if there isn’t anyone else he knows where they are—it’s simpler, and Gabe seems to agree. But tonight, Tyson leaves the group of committed or tired guys at the booth they claim, and heads to the bar with the other single and ready to mingles.

Tyson doesn’t really have a lot of game—Gabe once told him, mostly teasing, that his game was to talk at the person until they kissed him to shut him up, which isn’t the least true thing Gabe’s ever said. But it seems to be working tonight, because he starts chatting with Alejandra, a hot artist with eyebrows so on fleek they drop into a mutual admiration society about them. Tyson’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating the flirting—not only is she doing all the touching and the laughing, she’s doing the thing wolves do when they’re interested, tilting their necks and sidling a little. Tyson’s for sure interested too—she’s got legs for days and a laugh like a cross between a bray and a bell that’s super charming.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back,” she tells him eventually, with a smile like she really will be back. “I want to hear more about everywhere you’ve been.”

“Everywhere? Because I go a lot of boring places,” Tyson tells her, and she gives that laugh again before sliding off her stool. She crosses the room—checks in with some friends, who seem to approve of him if the laughter and smiles mean anything, which, score—then disappears down the hall to the bathroom.

“Hey.” Tyson turns to find Josty next to him.

“Do you need a drink?” Tyson asks. “I can get you one.”

“Nah. Well, yeah, actually, thanks.” Tyson rolls his eyes and leans over the bar. “Um, but, actually.” Josty looks a little unsure, fidgeting and ducking his head just a little. “I don’t know what, like, games you and Gabe are playing—I mean, no judgment, you do you, bro—but is it going to end soon? Because it’s getting kind of uncomfortable.”

“What game?” Tyson asks, then looks over Josty’s shoulder, to where Gabe’s sitting at the table with the guys who are just chilling. Normally even there he’d be chatting and loud, because Gabe dominates every space he’s in, but today—Tyson gets what Josty means about uncomfortable. Gabe’s glowering in Tyson’s direction, his arms crossed and every bit of body language projecting that someone who gets too close is going to get bitten, and not in a fun way. “Maybe he’s still pissed about the game.” They’d missed some easy chances, and Gabe always takes it harder.

“Or maybe he’s been watching you flirt with some chick for an hour.” Josty raises his hands when Tyson gives him his best skeptical look. “Like I said, no judgment! If the rawr thing works for you guys, like, go for it. Gabe’s hot when he’s angry. But EJ just sent me to say that it’s harshing his buzz, so message delivered.”

“It’s not,” Tyson tells him, but he hands Josty the drink the bartender gives him once the bartender’s moved away a little and lets Josty go find some rookies to play with. Then he looks over at Gabe again. Gabe is glaring very hard at the table now. Willy, sitting next to him, has given him a good two feet margin.

Tyson sighs, and resigns himself to being an idiot. Maybe he’ll be able to find Alejandra again.

But for now, he drops into the two feet Willy left. “Hey, big guy.”

Gabe’s head jerks, and his eyes go a little wide. “Tys? What are you doing over here?” He glances at the bar.

“I should be asking you that question,” Tyson tells him. “You’re scaring the children. And by children I guess I mean EJ. So what’s up?”

“Nothing.” Gabe grits it out. Tyson raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, okay, now tell me a believable lie.”

“It’s nothing,” Gabe says again. He’s still not meeting Tyson’s eyes. “Go back to that girl. She was hot and into you.”

“And leave my bro in the lurch? I’m not that kind of guy.” Tyson nudges his shoulder. Gabe’s tense as a board, and the touch doesn’t seem to relax him. “Come on, tell uncle Tyson, what’s up?”

Gabe blinks, apparently jolted out of his weirdness by Tyson’s. “Uncle Tyson? What the fuck, Four, that’s gross.”

“Look, I don’t judge that you’re into older men.” Tyson waggles his eyebrows. Gabe snorts.

“You’re actually twelve, you don’t count.”

“Now who’s gross?” Tyson shoots back, and gets a laugh out of Gabe. His shoulders are relaxing a little, mainly into Tyson. “So what’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Gabe says again, tighter. “Wolf stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

Tyson doesn’t let it sting. “Try me.” He gives his most innocent smile. “I’ve been told I’m very good at listening about wolf stuff. I’ve even been told that today.”

“By her?” Gabe asks, nodding at the bar, where Alejandra’s back, and looking their way. His voice is almost a snarl.

“Yeah, she’s apparently got this cool set up in the desert,” Tyson tells him, raising his eyebrows. “And you’re not getting out of it this easily. I’ll bug you all night, if I have to. You know I will.”

“Don’t,” Gabe snaps, then takes a breath and says, more even. “Don’t ruin your night because I’m in a mood. I’m just going to go.”

“Don’t do that! What’s team bonding without our captain?”

Gabe’s lips twist, and not in a nice way. “I’m just bringing everyone down, right? It’s better for me to head.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Tyson never wants Gabe to go, really.

“But you’re right. I shouldn’t’ve—” he shakes his head. “Have a nice night, Tys. She seems cool. Too cool for you,” he adds, but the chirp is weak.

“If it’s about the game—”

“I just need some sleep,” Gabe interrupts. “I’ll be fine in the morning.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Tyson.

“Gabe—” Tyson starts, leaning closer to like, shake it out of him if that’s what’s necessary.

Gabe takes a deep, startled breath, then “Tyson, if you don’t want me to—” Gabe growls, and Tyson scoots back. That’s Gabe’s serious voice, and Tyson does know what lines to draw.

“Yeah, okay fine. Sorry.” He scoots away, so Gabe can get up. “I’ll leave you alone then, if you’re going to be such a grouch.” He pauses. It’s a stupid idea, but he doesn’t like leaving Gabe like this, either. Gabe’s his friend before anything else. “Do you want me to come with? We can watch some TV or—”

“No,” Gabe snaps again, and this time it does sting, and Tyson knows it shows on his face, because what doesn’t. Gabe winces too, and then his hand brushes over Tyson’s shoulders, his neck. “I just mean—no, you shouldn’t, you want to stay out.”

“Unless I get a better offer,” Tyson tells him, mostly because outrageous flirting is their thing. It would be a very stupid idea to not remind himself of what they are. To go back to the hotel with Gabe and coax his bad mood out of him. Not least because Tyson honestly isn’t tired and could do with hanging out here some more.

Gabe swallows. “No, you want to be here,” he says firmly, his fists curling against his thighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Gabe—” Tyson starts, but Gabe’s pushing his way away, towards the exit. He has to go past the bar to do it, where Alejandra’s still hovering, clearly unsure of what Tyson’s play is. Gabe pauses for a long second, like maybe he’s thinking of just getting another drink—then he goes.

Tyson stares at the door for a second—Gabe is moody, of course, but that was weird even for him—and then shakes it off, and goes back to Alejandra.

“Sorry,” he says when he gets back to her. “Had to deal with a team thing.”

“A team thing?” she asks. She sniffs, her nose wrinkling. “The blonde guy?”

“Yeah, he’s my captain, and he’s being weird.” Tyson shrugs. “Not your problem. Or mine, apparently.”

“Captain, so—you guys are around each other a lot?” She taps her nose at Tyson’s confused look. “You smell like him.”

“Yeah.” Tyson sighs. “If you want his number, I mean, I don’t blame you, he’s definitely the hottest person I know, and I can maybe get him back here, but I’m not allowed to give out his number. Not even to someone as cool as you.”

She blinks, then smiles, something wolfish in the curl of her lips. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe you’re selling yourself short.”

Tyson grins back at her, laughs. “Nah, I doubt it, but it’s very cool of you to say so,” he tells her, and she laughs.

* * *

Tyson makes it to team breakfast without a problem—Alejandra needed to get to work and kicked him out after they hooked up, but not without exchanging numbers with a promise to text when he’s in the area again to see if she’s gotten back together with her girlfriend, or without Tyson buying a painting because she was really talented. He’s definitely sending it to his mom.

It’s good, he decides, as he gets food and goes back to his table. Ale was awesome and fun and what he needed; a reminder that he doesn’t need to fall down that hill into Gabe. That he has fun as is, and it’s all good.

Tyson takes a seat next to Nate and across from Gabe, like usual. Nate gives him a look, then smirks. “Have a good night?” he asks.

“Well unlike some people, I’m not lame and didn’t go to bed at eight.”

Nate flips him off. “Yeah, when did you get back?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Tyson tells him, and Nate snorts.

“Yeah, maybe, but you do. Was it that artist chick you were texting about?”

“I—”

“Leave it alone, Nate,” Gabe inserts. He’s looking at his plate, but his voice is still stern. “If Tys doesn’t want to share, he doesn’t have to.”

“Since when does Tys not want to share?” Nate asks, sounding honestly bewildered. “Tys, do you?”

“I mean—” Tyson glances at Gabe. It feels kind of mean, to talk about his night when Gabe had such a shitty one, for whatever reason. And when it apparently is extending into this morning. “We can talk about it later, Mac.”

Gabe makes a face. “I didn’t—”

“Can we not talk about Brutes’ sex life, please? It’s bad enough I have to see it,” EJ puts in, dropping into the seat next to Gabe. “Anything else. Please.”

“So how about them Bears?” Tyson suggests, and that gets them into a Broncos discussion that can carry them through breakfast.

On the bus, Tyson waves at Nate when he claims them a seat, then drops into the seat next to Gabe instead, and ignores Nate’s offended huff of air and Gabe’s raised eyebrows. Whatever, he can change things up.

“Are you feeling better?” Tyson asks. “Get that sleep you needed?” Gabe’s still looking a little pale, Tyson thinks.

“Yeah,” Gabe says. He’s probably still lying.

“I mean, I know a beauty sleep is hard when you look like you most of the time, but it is something that even you need sometimes. Your hair’s been looking a little floppy lately. Maybe more yellow than gold.”

“Oh it has?” Gabe asks, looking at him all condescending, but his lip is twitching like he’s ready to smile.

“Yeah, for sure. Nate and I were talking about it. That Landy, he’s wilting a bit, maybe he’s past his prime. Probably we should take him to IKEA soon for his regular dose of Swedish meatballs!” Tyson rushes to get the last word out as Gabe drags him into the best approximation of a headlock he can get in bus seats.

“Want to say that again?” Gabe demands, and his threat would probably work better if it was a hardship to be pressed against Gabe’s chest, or if Gabe’s head wasn’t in his hair, like he was trying to breathe him in or something.  

Tyson twists so that he can at least see Gabe. “Meatballs,” he says, very precisely, and then Gabe’s laughing and lets Tyson go.

“You two finished?” Z asks from the seat in front of them, with a surprising amount of dad energy. “Going to stop kick seat now?”

“Talk to Gabe, I didn’t start it.”

“You insulted me!” Gabe objects, but if he was pale he’s not anymore, and he nudges Tyson’s side companionably. “Sorry, Z.”

“Good,” Z rumbles, and Tyson and Gabe share sheepish looks before Gabe offers Tyson an earbud, presumably as a peace offering. Tyson takes it, also as a peace offering, because they both know that Tyson would rather do a lot than listen to Gabe’s music, but he’ll take it if it means Gabe doesn’t get into his mood again.

* * *

They lose in Calgary, then win in Minnesota. It’s shaping up to be a good season, though Tyson’s not jinxing anything by talking about it; he’ll just keep talking up their top line because they’re the shit and doing his own job to help where he can.

Then they play Arizona at home, and they’re up three with ten minutes left, which is maybe why Galchenyuk is getting a little desperate with his checking and Tyson goes into the boards then down.

It knocks the wind out of him for a second, and there’s a bit of a roaring in his ears, and when he sits up it pulls at his ankle in a way that he knows isn’t good—then he realizes that the roaring isn’t entirely in his ears.

Gabe’s got his gloves off and is going at it with Galchenyuk, snarling like he gets when someone fucks with one of them, and it takes Tyson a second to orient himself—his ankle is throbbing and he’s still going in circles and Gabe’s always a good fighter but he’s vicious this time, and then the refs are pulling them apart and Gabe’s still snarling and growling, entirely wolfish as he skates furiously to the box.

“Need help?” Nate demands, coming over to Tyson. Tyson makes a face.

“No.”

Nate hovers anyway, because he’s actually a mother hen, but Tyson gets up on his own power. Still, coach isn’t an idiot and saw him wince and the game’s almost over, so Tyson sits at the bench and lets the trainer prod at him as Gabe sits in the box, fuming in that way that flushes his cheeks and makes him look way hotter than someone with the sweat of a full hockey game should look. He locks eyes with Tyson—his eyes are wolf bright and unrepentant and fierce, and Tyson shivers a little. It’s a lot of look.

The trainer pokes and prods at him and hands him some ice, and Tyson watches the replay. He winces as he goes down, but it’s not as bad as he expected from how Gabe went at it—the hit’s totally legal, just a bad combination of positioning. Even Galchenyuk looks a little surprised when Gabe jumps at him like that.

The Avs kill the penalty, then they take the game, Nate netting a neat final goal just to put a pin in it. Tyson is ushered immediately into the trainer’s room as the rest of the team goes to the lockers, and he’d like to get home so he submits to the tests without complaining much.

The door opens just as they’re done, and Tyson’s expecting Nate—who’s his ride, anyway—but it’s Gabe who’s standing there, still a little flushed from his shower with water dripping down from his hair to his shirt collar. This is also a lot of look. Gabe is always a lot of look. Tyson needs to hook with someone else again, soon, if he’s veering into these thoughts again.

“How is it?” he demands.

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Just a bit of a sprain. It’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“You should really wait two days,” the trainer corrects, and Tyson makes a face at him. He shrugs. “I know you won’t, but I have to say it.”

“A sprain.” Gabe hums, and then he’s in the room. His hand wraps idly around Tyson’s ankle, like he’s feeling it out himself. “Your head’s okay?”

“Yeah. Or as okay as it ever is,” Tyson jokes, because Gabe’s looking weirdly concerned for what’s just a fairly routine athletic injury. “I’m fine, really.”

“Is he good to go?” Gabe asks the trainer, apparently ignoring Tyson.

“He’s fine. Just remember to ice it, and you’ll be okay,” the trainer tells Tyson, because he at least acknowledges Tyson is an adult who can take care of himself. “Might be best not to drive on it right now, though. I can get a car—”

“Nate’s my ride anyway—”

“I’ll take him home,” Gabe interrupts Tyson’s interruption. He gives the trainer his most charming, I’m-the-captain-you-can-trust-me smiles, steamrolling right over Tyson’s confusion. “We’ll make sure he rests it.”

“Good.” The trainer scans Gabe. “The fight hit anything?”

“No, I’m good. Come on, Four. Let’s go.”

“I’ll go when I say,” Tyson mutters, but he levers himself off the table, catches himself on his left leg. “See? Fine.”

“Sure you are,” Gabe agrees, and slides around him so he can stay on Tyson’s bad side. He stays there on their way up to the locker room, and then he does something that is definitely hovering when Tyson starts to strip out of his under armor.

“If this is the sort of strip tease that’s doing it for you, we have to talk about your kinks,” Tyson tells him, as he starts to roll his leggings his right leg. It’s easy enough to get it down to his calf, but then he starts to go much slower—it’s a weird angle when he wants to be careful with how he’s bending his leg.

“You’re getting naked, it’s all the same,” Gabe tells him, but then he kneels next to the bench, and Tyson’s breath catches. “Here, let me.”

“You don’t—”

“Let me,” Gabe insists, then he’s easing the leggings off, his hands gentle and almost delicate in the operation. Tyson’s breath catches, but really, he would like to see the person whose breath wouldn’t act up with Gabriel Landeskog at their feet, gentle like this. It somehow makes Tyson think about the full moon, about Gabe smiling soft and fierce at once as he let Tyson push him around. Then he stops thinking that, very deliberately.  “Do you have sweats? I don’t think we should try for your suit pants.”

“I’m not the one who needs to wiggle into my pants,” Tyson retorts, but he digs in his bag for sweatpants. Gabe eases those over his ankle too, then sits back on his heels as Tyson maneuvers his way into them. He’s studying Tyson’s ankle like he’s making a game plan; it’s a little weird and a lot hot.

Finally Tyson gets dressed, and then Gabe sweeps up his bag without any time for Tyson to even try. “Come on,” he orders, and more or less herds Tyson out the door, towards his car.

“You know Nate can give me a ride home,” Tyson tells him, though Nate has apparently disappeared and abandoned him.

“I told Nate I’d do it,” Gabe informs him, a little shortly. He’s still hovering on Tyson’s right side, like he’s ready to dive and catch him if he stumbles even though Tyson is perfectly capable of limping.

“Are you sure? I think I’m being kidnapped.”

“Yeah, this is my dastardly kidnapping plan.” Gabe rolls his eyes. “That’s how I’ll get control of all your riches.”

“Exactly. But I’m onto your wiles.”

“Sure you are,” Gabe agrees, throwing both of their shit into his trunk. He looks ready to come open the door for Tyson, but Tyson draws the line of Gabe’s bossy officiousness there, so he gets his own door and lets himself in, levering himself up. Then he pulls out his phone.

_I think Gabe’s kidnapping me?_ He texts Nate. _Did he stuff you into a closet?_

It takes the time for Gabe to get into the car and pull out for Nate to text back. _No he said he’d take care of you_ , Nate replies, then, quickly, _or insisted. Want me to come over anyway?_

Tyson looks sideways at Gabe. He looks very concentrated on the road, but Tyson can see the redness of his knuckles.

_No it’s good,_ Tyson tells Nate. Then he starts to type, _when you say insisted…_ then he thinks better of it, and deletes the text so he can stare out the window instead.

It’s when he’s staring out the window that he notices they aren’t going the right way. “You know, kidnapping works a lot less well when you get lost,” he points out.

Gabe glances at him. “I’m not lost,” he scoffs.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Tyson argues. “You needed to get off at the last exit for my house.”

“We’re not going to yours,” Gabe tells him, which actually does sound sort of kidnappy, which Tyson tells him. Gabe blows out a long breath like Tyson’s the one being irritating here. “I’m taking you to my house, because I have to let Zoey out and that way I know you won’t be able to hurt yourself more.” 

That doesn’t feel like a real reason, but Tyson’s tired and the pain meds are making him feel a little loopy, so he doesn’t object. He does text Nate just in case he really is being kidnapped, but Nate doesn’t reply, because he’s probably doing his own cool down.

They get to Gabe’s house and Gabe once more insists on getting his bag for him, and he looks again like he’d be carrying Tyson too if he thought he could get away with it. Tyson doesn’t let him, because he’s not an invalid, thank you very much, even if maybe it would be hot to see if Gabe could.

He’s sort of regretting it by the time they get inside, because the painkillers the trainers gave him are starting to wear off and a low, abiding ache is starting in his ankle, enough that he flinches away from Zoey when she comes barreling at them.

“Stay,” Gabe tells Zoey; she barks happily at him and disobeys, which gets a fond smile even as Gabe tugs her away from Tyson.

She looks so betrayed at that that Tyson shake his head. “No, I’m fine, I just needed to be warned.”

“You sure?” Gabe asks, but when Tyson nods he lets Zoey go after a stern look. She seems to get it at that—she approaches Tyson more slowly, and is almost gentle nosing at his good leg. Tyson scratches at her head.

“Okay,” he tells Gabe, once Gabe’s set down the hockey bag in the mudroom. “Your kidnapping is complete. But for a real five star kidnapping you should get me ice. And Gatorade.” 

“Okay,” Gabe says, which makes Tyson stare a little dumbly, and kicks off his shoes. Tyson does the same, much more gingerly, and with some leaning. “Go sit down in the living room. I’ll get it for you.”

Tyson doesn’t really know what to say to Gabe agreeing with him. “You don’t—”

“Go sit down,” Gabe tells him, and like, Tyson’s not stupid enough to refuse being waited on. He goes and sits down. Zoey scrambles after Gabe, and Tyson can hear the door open as Gabe lets her into the yard.

That leaves Tyson alone in Gabe’s living room. It’s not the first time that’s happened—Gabe doesn’t feel the need to chaperone Tyson all the time—but it is…weird. Tyson can hear Gabe humming tunelessly in the kitchen and the couch is comfortable and familiar and it’s all, just—Gabe’s a good captain, Tyson decides, and a good friend. He wants to make sure Tyson’s okay. That’s what it is. He’s just a good guy, and Tyson’s not an idiot.

That’s what he tells himself when Gabe brings him an ice pack and his warm fingers brush over Tyson’s ankle, quickly followed by the cold of the ice pack as Gabe arranges it on his ankle to his satisfaction. It’s what Tyson tells himself when Gabe goes back to the kitchen and Tyson puts on some Bravo, and then Gabe comes back out with Zoey and two plates of leftovers and settles himself on the ground near Tyson’s ankle to eat, Zoey curling up next to Gabe, her dark head resting on Gabe’s thigh. 

“Thanks,” Tyson says, when they’ve both finished and Gabe’s switched out the ice bag again. “For dinner, and the help.”

“Of course,” Gabe replies, like it’s a fact. Like of course he’d just bring a teammate home with him. “I like to…” Gabe’s face does something weird. “I couldn’t let you hurt yourself even more,” he adds.  

“So this was just a preventative measure,” Tyson says slowly, trying to rephrase. That makes sense. God knows they don’t want another Worlds incident. 

Gabe tips his head back, so he can look at Tyson. “Sure,” he says, and it sounds like a lie. “Are you feeling okay? Do you want more pain meds?”

“I’ll take them before I go to bed,” Tyson says, and then like punctuation he yawns. “Which maybe should be now.” The pills will knock him out even more.

Gabe grunts, then gets to his feet with a groan and a stretch. Tyson expects him to call Tyson an Uber or something—he’s gone above and beyond already—but he doesn’t make the move to. Instead, he clears the plates, and then he comes back to the living room where Tyson’s still trying to motivate himself to get up, and holds out a hand. “Here you go,” he says.

Tyson scowls at him. “I can get up.”

“Okay.” Gabe keeps his hand extended. “Let’s see.”

Tyson’s never met a dare he couldn’t match, so he does—pushes himself to his feet with a somewhat triumphant “hah!” that he manages not to cut off with a yelp of pain.

“Good job,” Gabe tells him, not sounding serious. “Now let me help on the stairs.”

“I can do it,” Tyson insists. He hates this feeling—like he’s weak, like he can’t keep up. He can. He always has.

“I can help.”

“I can do it,” Tyson repeats, and Gabe makes a noise like he strongly disagrees but he cuts off a motion that looks like he’s going to sweep him off his feet before it starts.

Tyson gets up the stairs, if slowly, but by the time he gets to the top he can admit, if only to himself, that it was definitely a bad idea. But he can’t give in, and Gabe’s right behind him, half herding and half looking ready to grab him, so he pushes on. He’s biting at his lip as he gets to the bedroom, and finally collapses onto the bed with an audible sigh of relief.

“There,” he tells Gabe. “Told you.”

“Yeah you showed me,” Gabe agrees in a tone that says how much he doesn’t believe it. “Want to sleep in your sweats, or should I get you something else?”

“This is fine.” Tyson had sort of gotten here on defying-Gabe energy; it’s only now that he’s realizing that he’s in Gabe’s room. In Gabe’s bed. Where Gabe is apparently suggesting he sleep.  

“You don’t sleep with clothes on,” Gabe argues, which Tyson guesses he does know. “Here. Arms up.”

“My arms aren’t hurt,” Tyson argues, but he lets Gabe tug his shirt off. Then lets Gabe take his pants off too, because Gabe is right, Tyson does like to sleep in just his boxers, and there’s no point denying it.

Gabe taking off his pants starts something in him, though, because apparently Pavlov was onto something. Maybe that’s why Gabe brought him here, Tyson thinks. Gabe does tend to like a fuck after his fight. Tyson’s ankle might make it complicated, but he could probably figure it out.

“Do you want…” Tyson starts, but then Gabe’s getting up, and he turns his back on Tyson to go to the bathroom. Tyson hears the water running, and then Gabe comes out with a glass full and some pills in his other hand.

Tyson eyes them. They both know from experience that once Tyson takes the pills he’ll be out and any hook up will not work. “You want me to take these?” he asks. “You don’t want anything else?” 

Gabe makes a low noise Tyson can’t interpret but sounds angry. “You’re hurt,” he snaps, which hasn’t stopped them before. “Take your meds and lie down.”

“I can go home, you know,” Tyson points out. If Gabe doesn’t want to hook up…

“You don’t have to.” Gabe’s voice is still sharp. Then he takes a breath, and sinks down so he can sit next to Tyson. His hand is brushing Tyson’s bare thigh. “Do you want to?” he asks, earnest despite himself. “I’ll drive you home if you do. Or I’ll call Nate to pick you up.”

Tyson could go home, where it would be empty and he would have to get everything himself, or he could stay here, where there’s a dog and free food and someone delivering him pain meds and Gabe. He knows the safe option, but…He can handle it, he decides. Gabe’s being a good friend. Tyson can deal with this.

“I’m good,” he decides, and Gabe’s smile is brilliant, his eyes crinkling with happiness and satisfaction.

“Good,” He tells Tyson, and holds out the glass. “Now take your medicine.”

“Yes sir,” Tyson says, and takes the medicine before Gabe gently pushes him back. “You don’t have to tuck me in,” Tyson objects, because it looks like Gabe’s going to do just that.

“Okay,” Gabe agrees, and settles the blankets around Tyson, tugs them up like he’s actually tucking Tyson in. Tyson looks up at him, and it’s just—Gabe’s looking at him and there’s concern in his eyes and warmth and something that’s both at once and somehow the wolf too, something smug and pleased.

“Thanks,” Tyson tells him, and yawns again. The meds set in fast, either from the lack of distracting pain or the drugs themselves.

“Whatever you need,” Gabe tells him, and then he leans down and Tyson thinks he’s going to kiss him—a little late, but Tyson could _try_ —but instead he just brushes his lips against Tyson’s forehead, his beard scraping faintly against the skin. “Go to sleep.”

He stands up. Tyson eyes him, trying to keep his eyes open. “Are you sleeping somewhere else?” he asks.

Gabe laughs, and shakes his head before he walks out of Tyson’s eyesight. Tyson’s mostly asleep before the bed shifts, and Tyson can feel the heavy weight of fur against his side. Gabe licks at Tyson’s ankle once, like an apology, and then he curls up against Tyson. The bed shifts less when Zoey gets on it, but she’s on Tyson’s other side, near his feet; it’s surrounded by that warmth that Tyson falls asleep.

* * *

It’s less easy to rationalize in the morning. In the post-injury, post-game haze, it was almost reasonable, that Gabe took Tyson home. In the morning light, when Tyson wakes up to a bed that smells like Gabe and dog and the sounds of Gabe fussing downstairs—when Gabe continues to fuss all morning, basically refusing to let Tyson do anything other than sit even though his ankle’s feeling a lot better—when Gabe looks ready to argue that Tyson should really stay at his even though he had to go to practice and Tyson needed to deal with his own shit.      

From that point of view, well.

“Gabe’s been acting weird recently, right?” Tyson asks Nate when he comes over after practice. Tyson’s been bored and so actually cooked a nutritionist approved grilled chicken dish, which Nate seems to appreciate by how fast he’s wolfing it down. Pun totally intended. “It’s not just me?”

“No, he’s totally been acting weird.” Nate grabs another slice of chicken breast. “Or, like. It is just you in the sense that it’s only around you.”

Tyson ignores that last part. “He’s not—like, he’s not sick or anything, is he? Something wolfy?”

“How would I know?” Nate asks, his mouth full, and shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

Tyson is beginning to think Nate is not taking this seriously enough. “Nate, it could be something bad! What if he’s suffering and not telling anyone about it, like a martyr or something?”

“He’s not acting sick,” Nate argues. He reaches for the last biscuit; Tyson slaps his hand away. That one’s Tyson’s. “I mean,” Nate goes on, accepting the slap with good grace, “If you think about it…” he pauses, hums. “It’s almost like he’s—”

“He’s not,” Tyson interrupts. He knows what Nate’s going to say, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

“He’s been possessive and jealous and super overprotective of you, he’s been making you food and giving you gifts…” Nate ticks them off his fingers, like Tyson needs them enumerated. “That’s all courting behavior, bud.”

“It’s not.” Tyson turns away from the table so he can look down at the floor.

“It super is,” Nate argues. “I’m the wolf, I should—”

“It’s not,” Tyson repeats, more forcefully. “It can’t be, okay?”

“But—”

“The only reason I’ve been able to do this thing with Gabe for so long is because I won’t think like that,” Tyson interrupts. He can’t look Nate in the eyes to explain this, even though he suspects Nate’s guessed a lot of it. Instead, he studies his tabletop. “Gabe doesn’t want me like that, and I’m fine with that. And I can be fine with that because I don’t let myself think about things like—like what Gabe would be like courting me. If I start thinking that, then I’m going to end up someplace idiotic and emotional, and it’s going to mess things up.”

A beat. Then, “Tys…” Nate starts, sounding horribly compassionate and warm and not like he thinks Tyson is pathetic.

“Don’t,” Tyson warns, because if Nate starts being emotional he is definitely going to start being emotional and it’s all going to go downhill.

“Okay. Fine.” Nate swallows, and Tyson finally looks up. Nate’s trying very hard to look normal, and even though he’s failing very badly Tyson’s hit by a wave of affection for his best friend.

“So, anyway. Landy’s acting weird, and as his A you should talk to him about it,” Tyson goes on, which was the original point anyway.

Nate snorts. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

“I’ve tried and I didn’t get anywhere,” Tyson tells him. He didn’t think this was going to be an argument—it felt pretty straightforward, something that Tyson just had to nudge Nate about. “It’s your responsibility, as a member of the leadership team—”

“Yeah, sure, but it’s still a bad idea.” Nate shakes his head, and pushes away his clean plate. “If Gabe is courting you—which he’s not,” Nate adds, at Tyson’s dark look, “But if he is, then another wolf coming in and telling him he needs to stop being weird around you is not going to help anything. Especially me.”

“Why—” Now it’s Nate’s turn to give him a look, which, fair. Gabe did already snap at Nate once. “Well he needs to be talked to. That was a legal hit on me and he went ballistic, he can’t do that—and don’t,” Tyson says, because Nate’s still giving him a look. “Gabe’s protective of the team.”

“Yeah, he is,” Nate nods. “And specifically of you.”

“What—”

“Okay, so Gabe’s not courting you,” Nate allows. Tyson decides to believe he means it. “He’s still different with you then with another humans. Maybe just because you’re so—chill, with wolves. But you’re pack differently.”

Tyson knows he’s red. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, just—” Nate shakes his head. “It’s like, a scent on you? I can’t describe it. And maybe it’s Gabe or maybe it’s just that you’ve grown up with wolves for forever, but I know Gabe doesn’t scent the other humans like he does you.”

“Because we’re hooking up.”

Nate shakes his head again. “It’s more than that.” He shrugs this time. “Maybe Gabe can explain it. You should ask him. And ask him about being weird. Someone should, I just can’t.”

“EJ?”

“Sure, he could ask.” Nate makes another try for the biscuit. Tyson lets him, this time, because he’s been a bro about everything. “You want to tell EJ what’s been happening?”

Sometimes Tyson really hates it when Nate’s right. “And you really can’t ask?”

“I don’t want to fight my captain, so. No.”

“Please?”

“Not a good idea, Tys,” Nate tells him, like he means it and he’s sorry. “It’s about you; it has to be you to talk about it.”

“I really don’t think so,” Tyson argues, and steals back half of the biscuit. Nate lets him do it, then,

“Fortnite until we have to go?”

“Ugh, no,” Tyson groans, and that argument starts up and drives away everything else.

* * *

Nate can’t be right, Tyson thinks later, as they all suit up. Gabe’s been basically throwing him at other people, which is like, the opposite of courting. So Nate should really be the one to talk to him, and Tyson won’t have to.

He keeps that position for a few weeks, even though Nate doesn’t budge either. It’s easier this way; Tyson can enjoy Gabe cooking for him and cuddling and fussing and doesn’t have to think about why or how he knows there’s a good possibility Tyson’ll have to end this—he’s teetering on the edge already, more than he ever has in the past years, and every smile or laugh or the way Gabe sprawls over Tyson’s lap in his wolf form and demands head scratches is pushing him dangerously closer to the place where everything goes bad. It’ll be better to stop it before he gets there, he knows, but, well. No one ever said he was smart.

So he puts it off, and they win and they lose and they win, and then—

They’re messing around at practice while warming up, and there’s a girl—maybe in her twenties, Tyson hopes—with a sign for Josty, asking him to meet her at the zamboni.  

Tyson points it out to Josty, because the way he laughs proudly and still sort of sheepishly is amazing. “Aw,” Tyson tells him, jostling his elbow companionably. “They grow up so fast. Getting propositioned and everything.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been propositioned,” Josty protests. He smirks. “That’s definitely not new.”

“I’m sure it’s not. Doing the Tyson name proud,” Tyson agrees. “Pretty soon you’ll be a real adult and we’ll be able to do a double act. You can be cute and fluffy and I can be funny.”

“Fluffy?” Josty asks, grinning.

“Sure, fluffy.” Tyson gestures, at what he hopes is his hair. “Your curls bring all the girls to the yard.”

“You’d know, eh?” Josty asks, and Tyson laughs.

“Yeah, sure, my hair is definitely as nice as yours,” he drawls.

“Well, as long as it’s pullable, what does it matter?” Josty throws back, with a pathetic attempt at a wink, and Tyson winks back, much better. Gabe aside, no one else flirts with him quite as shamelessly as Josty. It’s enough to make him think there really is something in a name.

“Your hair is definitely—” Josty starts, and then there’s a flash and someone comes crashing into Josty, knocking him a little sideways.

That flash resolves itself into Gabe, who’s glaring like he had at Galchenyuk, with his teeth bared and all thunder and fury and height. He’s not actually taller than Josty, but in that moment he towers. “Maybe we should be warming up?” he snaps, but the words come out like a growl.

Josty’s response is a whine, and he tilts his head back, showing his neck, his eyes clearly confused—he hadn’t being slacking any more than the rest of them—and then—another body comes barreling up, and Comphy’s in front of Josty, snarling back, and Gabe squares his shoulders.

Tyson blinks. It’s not—Gabe sometimes throws his weight around on the rink, especially at practice, but that’s supposed to be motivational, not this. “Gabe.” He says. JT’s growling too, and Josty’s gotten his legs under him, and Gabe’s still in Viking werewolf rage, and— “Gabe,” Tyson says again, louder. Sterner. “Stop it.”

Gabe blinks, then his eyes go wide, and all that fury leaches out of him. “Fuck,” he swears, low and fervent. “I’m—fuck, sorry,” he adds, and pivots and skates very fast away, to the other end of the rink, where he starts circling.

JT grabs Josty’s arm, yanks him fully upright. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Josty shakes out his head. “What the fuck was that? I wasn’t doing anything.”

Both of them turn to Tyson, like he can explain—like he gets what the fuck is going on with their captain any more than they do, even though they’re wolves too. Tyson shrugs, because the things he’s thinking—they can’t be true. He can’t think them. Even if Gabe just went after Josty for flirting with him.

But it is a breaking point. Practice is weird and subdued, even for the people who didn’t notice what had happened, or who thought it was just normal wolfing around. And then Tyson follows Gabe home, after practice.

It’s a conscious choice—no matter what, Gabe’ll feel better in his own territory. So he lets Gabe be at home before he knocks on the door.

Gabe’s already sighing when he opens the door, and he looks—defeated, maybe. It’s the only look on him that’s not good. “Yeah, come in.” He steps aside.

Tyson comes in, eying him sidelong. This is worse than he thought.

He takes of his shoes and greets Zoey, then follows Gabe into the living room. A few weeks ago, Gabe had ensconced him there to fuss over him; now Gabe drops heavily onto the couch, looking up at Tyson.

“Gabe—” Tyson starts, but then Gabe’s talking.

“I know I shouldn’t have snapped at Josty,” he says. “I already texted him and Comphy, and I’ll talk to them tomorrow. It wasn’t okay.”

“Um. Yeah.” Gabe’s preemptive apology has taken the wind out of Tyson’s sails a bit. “You scared them, I think.”

“I know.” Gabe looks up at him, and he looks pale again, tired. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not about sorry, Landy, Christ.” Tyson throws up his hands, suddenly irritated. Gabe doesn’t get to look like this when he’s refusing to talk to Tyson.

“Okay. That’s—okay,” Gabe cuts in, before Tyson can say anything more. “I’ll respect that, I promise, I’ll be better—”

“Respect what?” Tyson demands. “What the hell is up with you, Gabe? You fight Galchenyuk and snap at Nate and Josty and you’re moody as a teenager and—”

“I know!” Gabe surges to his feet too now, less as an attack and more just because it seems like he can’t sit still. “I know, I’ve been trying to tamp it down, but it’s—I can’t always control it, and I’m sorry, okay. I’m trying. But I get why you need to stop—”

“Stop what?” Tyson asks, then, “Just—tell me. Stop talking around it.”

Gabe tosses his head back, a move that would fit more in a wolf. “You know what it is,” he tells Tyson. “You’re not that stupid.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“ _Tyson_ ,” Gabe groans. “I know I fucked up, but you don’t have to be cruel about it.”

“I’m not being cruel,” Tyson retorts. He’s—it’s taking everything in him not to interpret this in all the very dangerous ways he could. “You’ve got to just say it, Gabe. I can’t help unless you say it.”

“Fine, you want me to say it?” Gabe snaps, and stalks forward, all predator, but the look on his face—it’s pain, not triumph or aggression. Tyson tilts his head back but doesn’t move. “You’ve been killing me. Every time you flirt with someone else I want to fight them. Knowing you’re sleeping with other people makes me want to tear their throats out. And if someone hurts you—” he trails off, meaningfully. Tyson definitely can’t breathe. Gabe feels like he’s growing, like he’s taking up the whole room. “I want to keep you safe and happy and provided for and mine.” He growls the last word. “Until you don’t smell of anyone but me.”

Tyson blinks. He hadn’t expected—this is so much more than the stuff he hadn’t let himself think. He hadn’t prepared for this talk. “That’s—you really want all that?”

“Yes,” Gabe growls again, then he seems to notice how he’s looming, and takes a step back, scrubbing his hand over his face, all that aggression shoved back. “But I know that’s not okay—I’ve been trying to get a handle on it, but it’s all instinct, so if I’m not watching myself sometimes it comes out—like with Josty, I just didn’t _think_ —”

“So it’s all instinct? What you feel about me?” That makes some amount of sense, puts it out of the danger zone. Lets Tyson stay nice and safe.

Gabe snorts. “Of fucking course not. What I feel about you is so much more than that. It’s just the wolf stuff that I can’t get a hold of.” He swallows, looks away. A lock of hair is falling over his forehead. Tyson wants to brush it away. To make him stop looking like that, his shoulders hunched. If he was in his wolf form, his tail would be between his legs. “But I will. I won’t let it mess up the team again. Or us. I’ll find a way to equalize.”

Right. Problem solving. Tyson can do that, even though—even though all of those things he’s saying are pushing Tyson on that edge, and he’s starting to wobble. More than that—what’s more than that? What’s not the wolf, but the man?

“I can—I can stop sleeping with other people,” Tyson suggests. He can go through some chastity to help Gabe not be weird and broken like this, saying all these terrifying things.

“That’s not—”

“Or if you need it, I can try to tone it down with the flirting, I know I do that a lot, and if it’s messing with your instincts, I can work on it—”

“That’s the point, you shouldn’t!” Gabe bursts out. “I don’t want you to change. For me or anyone else. I won’t ask you to.” He says it fierce and proud and bright, and Tyson feels himself teeter on that edge, start to tip. “I love you for all your ridiculous flirting and how you manage to be friends with everyone you sleep with and how you always know how to handle wolves and me and everyone and how you’re always at the center of a party and just—everything else. I won’t ask you to change that, never. I’ll figure out how to handle it,” he says, and he’s being dramatic and domineering and oh so compassionate and noble and opening the door to the things Tyson hasn’t let himself think, and Tyson—

It’s time, he thinks, and lets himself fall.

“Now who’s being an idiot,” he retorts. Gabe tilts his head, clearly confused. Tyson rolls his eyes. “Come on. It’s great that you don’t want me to change, which, good, because I think I’d be really bad at that, I don’t know how to talk without flirting and we all know how good I am at watching what I say before I talk, but, like. I can actually compromise.”

“What?” Gabe asks. He’s still tensed, like he’s ready to bolt.

“Yeah, compromise, have you heard of it?” Tyson asks, blithely ignoring the hypocrisy of his own stubbornness. “We can find a way for you to deal with being all—” he steals the word from Josty, “rawr without me acting unnatural.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Gabe insists, his jaw sticking out. “This shouldn’t be on you. I never wanted it to be on you, we made it clear what was happening and I’m the one who changed—”

Tyson ignores him too, when he’s being stupid. “I hate to break it to you, but my dick isn’t so good that my fuckbuddies are going to wither away without it,” he goes on. “Like, some might give you a hard time—Roman’s definitely going to give you a hard time, he was already weirded out, but that’s not any different, you guys always give each other a hard time—but none of them won’t be cool. And I’m cool with that, I’ll be getting Landeskog dick on the reg, that’s fine. So that issue’s done.”

“But.” Gabe still looks bewildered and stubborn, somehow at the same time. “That’s not what we do. You don’t want that, you always do the friends hook up thing. You’re not looking for more.”

“Thanks for letting me know what I want, that’s super helpful,” Tyson retorts. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know you.” Gabe’s still tensed and looking at him from a few feet away, like he doesn’t dare go closer but he doesn’t want to pull away. “You’ve never been into a relationship, and definitely not with me. It’s been years, and you haven’t—”

“Because I didn’t know it was on offer. But if it is…” Tyson shrugs, hoping to convey how ridiculous it is that someone would say no to an actual relationship with Gabriel Landeskog, most of all him. Like he hasn’t been staving off the inevitability of his fall for years.  

Apparently he fails at his shrug communication, because, “I don’t need your pity relationship just because I can’t handle my shit,” Gabe snaps.

“Yeah, the one who’s pity relationshipping here is totally me, that’s what everyone who looks at us says,” Tyson rolls his eyes. “It’s not a fucking pity relationship. I want it too.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do!” Tyson’s voice is rising, because where does Gabe get off, telling him what he wants?

“You don’t!”

“How could you know that?”

“Because you keep hooking up with other people!” Gabe roars, and Tyson reels back.

“Wow.” Tyson takes a breath. “So that’s super flattering.”

“I didn’t—” Gabe stumbles back as well. “Fuck, this is what I meant, I didn’t want this to be—I didn’t mean to—you can hook up with whoever you want, I don’t get a say, obviously, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I think you did mean.” Tyson crosses his arms. “What exactly did you mean, Landeskog?”

Gabe’s fight or flight instincts seemed to have settled on fight, and he draws himself up, though he’s not snarling or showing his teeth or doing any of the other wolf-aggressive signs.

“I mean that I can’t—over the summer I couldn’t stop missing you or thinking about you, and then I got back and it didn’t change, I missed you when you were across the fucking room.” Gabe throws it at him, more angry than romantic, but it doesn’t mean it’s not. Tyson’s doing a lot of retroactive thinking about all the times Gabe’s been watching him, this season. “And you were out there posting pictures of you with people I knew you were hooking up with or hooking up with them here and it’s not the same, okay? It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. Maybe just knowing that will help me get it under control. But you don’t have to pretend,” he finishes, with a snarl on the last word like he’d rip it off if he could.  

“Okay, let’s get some things straight.” Tyson closes the distance between them so he can shove at Gabe’s chest. Gabe doesn’t move, but he doesn’t growl either, which really Tyson should have figured out meant something earlier—alpha wolves like Gabe don’t really take well to most people getting in their faces. “First. You don’t tell me what I feel. I think I’m the expert at that, thanks. Or like, if I had a therapist they would be, I guess, but anyway—not you.” Gabe opens his mouth. Tyson shoves at him again, and he shuts up. “Second. I guess my relationship to monogamy is different than yours and like, I’m not sorry about it, and I’m not sorry that apparently I can be into someone and also have sex with other people because that’s how I handle emotions. I’m not a fucking wolf.”

“And,” Tyson goes on, before Gabe can get a word edgewise. “If that’s not something you can handle, then I guess this is dead in the water. But,” and he takes a breath. This is the dangerous ground he never thought he’d walk on, never thought he could. “If you want us to work out a way for me to be me and for you to handle your wolf shit, then—I’m in.”

Gabe’s staring at him, eyes bright and with something like dawning hope in them. “Really?” he asks, and it’s quiet.

Tyson meets his gaze. He can handle this, when it’s pretty clear that Gabe’s there to steady him on the danger zone. “I’ve spent a lot of time and effort trying not to be in love with you, Gabe. It’s kind of exhausting.”

For a second, Gabe stares at him, big eyed and wary, like he’s looking for traps. Tyson tries to project honesty, and not like he’s kind of terrified Gabe’s going to yell ‘psych’ and that Tyson’s fucked everything up now.

Then Gabe starts to smile, the smile he gets after a win. “Then you’d better stop,” he says, and Tyson’s rolling his eyes already when Gabe’s grabbing him and kissing him.

It’s not like any kiss they’ve had before—Tyson had thought they’d done the rough and hard kiss, the sort of hot passionate kiss full of pent up energy and aggression of Gabe after a fight, but it’s nothing like this kiss. It’s somehow wild and tender and fierce all at once, and it leaves Tyson breathless.

“Fuck,” he says, holding onto Gabe’s shoulders so he doesn’t do something stupid and swoon. “You’ve been holding that in a while, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Gabe tells him cheerfully, then kisses him again, a little slower this time, a little softer but no less intense. He trails his lips down Tyson’s jaw, over his neck, kissing and biting and licking and overall not being very subtle about what he’s doing. Tyson hears him bury a word that sounds like _mine_ in his neck, and he pats at Gabe’s head.

He tries for as patronizing as he can be when Gabe’s mouth is on his skin as he tells Gabe, “Yes, yours. Take as much time as you need, but you do know that people will see me in the locker room tomorrow and they’re already going to chirp us a lot and if you leave too many bruises it’ll be pretty unbearable, so—”

“Shush,” Gabe cuts him off, nipping at his ear. Then, quieter— “Maybe it’ll be better, if you smell like me.” It sounds like it’s pulled out of him, but maybe it’s an admission that they can actually work together on this.

“We can try it,” Tyson agrees. “I mean, if you have to fuck me and then cuddle me, I guess I can live with that. Or cuddle then fuck, I’m not picky. Or I could fuck you, we’re good at that too. There’s really a lot of options—hey!” he yelps, because Gabe picked him up and dumped him on the couch, which is as expected very hot and also probably very bad for Gabe’s back. “If you hurt yourself doing this I’m not going to be the one to tell coach, you should—”

“Shush,” Gabe repeats, climbing on top of Tyson on the couch.

Tyson grins up at him—at the unrestrained passion in his face, at how he’s looking at Tyson like he’s his and he’s pleased at what he’s seeing. “Make me.”

Gabe, as expected, rises to the dare.

They make out until Zoey gets mad that no one’s paying her attention and Gabe has to get up to let her out, then they laze around all afternoon—Gabe seems to be very set on never not not touching Tyson at any point, and Tyson is very into Gabe touching him, so it’s all good. Tyson takes the time to send Nate a quick text— _you were right, def was courting_ (Wolf Face )(Person With Blond Hair )(Aubergine ≊ Eggplant)—then doesn’t look at his phone again to see the response. He hopes Gabe doesn’t want him to go through his contacts telling anyone who he’s hooked up with that it’s no longer a possibility.

Later, they end up in Gabe’s room, sweaty and spent because apparently putting some monogamy in the mix didn’t make the sex any less great.

“Hey,” Tyson says, turning over so he can face Gabe. Gabe looks mostly asleep, sprawled on his stomach and with his eyes barely open. “Can I stay?”

“You better,” Gabe mumbles, and reaches out to pull Tyson closer, so Gabe’s basically lying on top of him. It’s a little hard to breathe until Tyson rearranges him so that he’s not on any vital body parts, but from there, it’s easy to fall asleep, warm and surrounded by Gabe.

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re back here.” EJ looks around Kevin’s club with a raised eyebrow, like Tyson didn’t know he had a good time last time he was here.

“I can’t believe Gabe let us come back here,” Nate adds. “Think you can handle it, Landy?”

“I think I can handle a club, yeah,” Gabe retorts. Tyson would believe him a little more if they hadn’t discussed it a few weeks ago—how Tyson did still have an in at the club and whether Gabe would be cool and how if he wanted to avoid all of Tyson’s friends with ex-benefits then they’d have a really limited social life. But now he just gives Nate his most condescending look, and Tyson doesn’t call him on it. He’s comfortable next to Gabe anyway, Gabe’s arm thrown across the back of the seat so it’s basically over Tyson’s shoulders and content with two points for the team and for him both. In a few minutes, he’ll try to drag Gabe to the dance floor, if that fails he’ll get Nate, if that fails he’ll go join the rookies. Then after he’ll go home with Gabe and get properly rewarded.

“You couldn’t last time,” Nate points out. “You were all…”

“Rawr, is the word we’re using for it,” Tyson inserts. He likes it. He thinks it incorporates both how irritating it is and also how it’s kind of hot. “It’s not accurate because it sounds more like cats than dogs, but I like saying it.”

“We’re not using that,” Gabe argues, but with the sort of sigh that means he knows he’s going to lose. Tyson grins at him, because he will never not enjoy winning; Gabe rolls his eyes but leans over to press a kiss to Tyson’s hair.

“PDA! That’s a fine!” Nate yells. “EJ! They need a fine.”

Gabe flips Nate off. Tyson glares. “That wasn’t PDA. I do worse to you, like, all the time. So does Gabe.”

“If no one on the team is allowed to kiss anyone else on the forehead we’re really screwed,” Gabe adds.

“It’s different when it’s you, though,” EJ says thoughtfully. “You’ve got intent.”

“Are you saying you don’t have intent with G?” Tyson demands. He leans out of the booth, to the next table over. “Hey, G! EJ said he doesn’t actually like kissing you.”

G’s a bro—“EJ!” he yells, sounding as scandalized as possible, which the accent really helps with.

“Someone’s in the doghouse,” Gabe tells EJ, straight-faced. He nudges Tyson happily with his shoulder; Tyson nudges back.

“I hate all of you,” EJ tells the table at large.

“No you don’t,” Nate tells him cheerfully. “You—”

Gabe’s arm tightens over Tyson’s shoulder a second before, “Hey, Tyson,” Kevin says, coming up next to the booth.

“Hey, bro!” Tyson puts a hand on Gabe’s thigh, a warning and a comfort, then half stands up so he can give Kevin a bro-hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Solid.” Kevin hugs him back. “Less good for the past few weeks.” He winks. “A text, bro? That’s cold.”

Tyson delicately does not say it was a text because he had to send that text to a lot of people, informing them that the benefits part of the friendship was over. He still thinks he didn’t need to actually announce it, but it made Gabe relax and it was an easy enough concession to make, if Gabe needed, like, proof that he was into this. “You know me. Stone cold,” Tyson retorts. “We should hang sometime, though. Grab some drinks you don’t own.”

“Yeah I’m definitely going to have time for that.” Kevin says on a sigh.

“Well, when you have time. Text me.”

“I will. Let me know if you need anything.” He winks again. “Or, you know. You’re not getting what you need elsewhere.” Gabe makes a low, not quite a growl, but doesn’t say anything. Tyson pats his leg again.

“You’ll be my first text,” Tyson promises. “Well, I mean, honestly, I think I’d have bigger problems and I might be texting other people first, but like, if I needed to get laid, definitely you.”

Kevin chuckles. EJ shakes his head, mouthing something like he’s not sure how Tyson survives, which is a fair reaction. “Talk to you later, then,” Kevin tells him, then nods to everyone else, and moves off.

“Really? Him?” Gabe asks. He barely even sounds strained. Tyson’s so proud of him. “Not even Liz? I think she’d definitely be a better first text.”

“I’m assuming I’d be weaning myself off you,” Tyson explains. “So like, I’d probably go dick.”

“But if he’s so bad that you need to go elsewhere, wouldn’t you want something totally different?” Nate points out. Tyson hums.

“Maybe, but Liz is kind of mean in the same way Gabe is? Kevin’s different emotionally. It’s a different experience—”

“None of which you’ll need,” Gabe breaks in, stern. Tyson shrugs.

“I mean, not as long as you keep me satisfied.”

Gabe’s grin flashes, smug like he’s remembering last night. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Okay, we’re done.” EJ makes a face.

“You’re lucky, you only get it here,” Nate retorts. “And you can’t smell it.”

“You’re lucky, I talked Gabe into not being angsty about me showering,” Tyson tells Nate. “So really, you should count your blessings.”

“I wasn’t going to be angsty,” Gabe argues. “I just like when you smell like me.”

“You were going full puppy dog face,” Tyson throws back. “I saw you. You were like, this close to just going wolf so you could do it more effectively.”

“I was not.” Gabe flutters his eyelashes. “Are you saying that this face isn’t convincing enough?”

It is irritatingly convincing, Gabe smiling at him, fond and amused and teasing. “Put that away, you’ll hurt someone,” Tyson tells him. He takes a sip of his drink, then looks around. The team’s scattered around various tables, and he sort of makes eye contact with Josty, which is enough to get him up and over here.

“We’re going to hit the floor, anyone in?” he asks.

“Yeah, get me away from these nerds,” EJ agrees. He elbows Nate. “Let me out.” Nate makes a face at him, but he scoots out of the way.

 This is a nice way to skip convincing Gabe or Nate. “I am,” Tyson decides, and finishes the rest of his drink. “Got to make sure the new kids know I’m still the master of the dance floor.”

“You have never been master of anything, especially the dance floor,” Gabe informs him. He catches Tyson’s wrist when Tyson moves to get up, though, and Tyson pauses. Gabe glances around, then his hand slides up to the back of Tyson’s neck, draws him down to kiss him, fast but intense, the kind of kiss that still leaves Tyson reeling, a little. Gabe takes advantage of that reel to move down to Tyson’s jaw, to lick at his neck for a second.

Tyson manages to pull himself together after that. “Are we good, now?” he asks, trying to sound exasperated and probably coming out less so then he wants.

“Yep.” Gabe gives him a half-apologetic, half-pretend innocent smile. “Go have fun.”

“I will.” Tyson leans in, so can at least make a nod at whispering. “Then we’re going home and you can follow through on that.”

Gabe definitely does growl this time, and Tyson pulls away, grinning. “Love you too,” he throws over his shoulder at Gabe, who laughs and flips him off too as he heads to the dance floor. He can still feel Gabe watching him as he lets himself get sucked into the mass of their teammates, of everyone on the dance floor, and he smiles to himself, pleased. And this is just mid month. Full moon is coming up; he thinks he can figure out a way for them to have a lot more fun then.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on tumblr at [ fanforthefics!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


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